


A Pirate's Life For Me

by Racethewind_10



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Pirates, So many tropes, Tropes, and swagger, at all, blatant costume porn, clearly that didn't work out, lots and lots of swagger, not even a little, pretty horses, pretty pretty pirates, this fic is not to be taken seriously, this started as a three sentence fic idea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 03:32:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 58,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Racethewind_10/pseuds/Racethewind_10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silhouetted against the moonlight, her raven hair flowing over her shoulders and her skin creamy porcelain above a white poet’s shirt tucked into breeches and thigh high leather boots, stood none other than …</p><p>“H.G. Wells.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Damn those French bastards!

Hardly sentiments worthy of polite company, they were appropriate to the situation nonetheless. Fortunately for the woman who the curse belonged to, there was no polite company to be had for a very great distance. Unfortunately, the invective was the last coherent thought that passed through the mind of Agent Lieutenant-Commander Myka Bering, first mate of _HMS Artifact Hunter_ under Captain Arthur Nielson. For in the next instant, the French frigate’s guns sounded, the world seemed to explode, and everything went dark.

* * *

The next thing Myka was aware of was being in a great deal of pain, and bitterly, terribly cold. Her thoughts felt slow, as if they too were frozen, and there was a persistent ringing in her ears that refused to dissipate. The distantly familiar sounds of splashing and shouting teased at the edge of her hearing, but before her normally quicksilver mind could decipher what those sounds signified, her body failed her, and Myka was dragged into unconsciousness once more.

Awareness returned several more times after that. Once it was accompanied by sharp pain and exclamations – she thought she heard someone cry “hold her! I have to set the arm!” before she passed out. After that her brief periods of lucidity carried more pleasant, if equally transient sensations. She felt warmth over her body, a soft pillow beneath her head, gentle hands stroking her face and sometimes a soft voice coaxing her away from oblivion. None of it, however, made any sense, or stayed fixed in her mind long enough for her to grasp before she slipped back into the darkness once again.

And then, one moment, as if an invisible hand flipped a switch in her mind, Myka was simply awake. Her senses, long denied, now crowded her with information: It was dark and she was indoors somewhere, on a ship apparently, as the familiar rolling sensation was instantly recognizable. They were underway and if the sound of water rushing by the hull outside was any indication, making good speed. Myka herself was resting in a real bed in what must have been the Captain’s quarters. The blankets were thick and soft and not stained with salt – a luxury indeed. Nearby a heavy mahogany desk was scattered with charts and if she craned her neck she could just see a window through which the full moon hung low and bright. Her situation deemed secure enough, Myka’s next act was to try and move. An act which presented rather more difficulty than expected. Her right arm was bound in a sling and it appeared her ribs had been wrapped as well. Just how badly was I hurt? She wondered. Hard on the heels of that thought came the memories of the attack and … Artie, Pete, Claudia, the crew! It came rushing back like wave against the shore and Myka felt the iron bands of panic tighten her chest. She had to get up, she had to…

“Oh, bollocks,” she hissed softly as her entire body protested her attempt to leave its supine position. Her frustration however, was short lived. There was a gasp, a commotion on the other side of the room, and before her heart could finish its attempt to leap through her chest, a worried “Myka? Myka are you awake?”

“Claudia? Is that you?”

A lantern flared and suddenly Myka was face to face with the midshipman of the Artifact Hunter and her own dear friend, Claudia Donovan. “Claudia! You’re okay!” Relief flooded Myka, easing some of the tightness in her shoulders.

“Oh my goodness Mykes! We were so worried,” Claudia’s eyes were suspiciously shiny as she attempted to hug the older woman awkwardly. Protocol be damned, the two had always been more sisters than mere shipmates and Myka wrapped her good arm around the girl.

Joyous reunions, however, must needs be short lived.

“Claudia where are we? What happened? How long have I been unconscious? Where are Pete and Artie and the crew?” she asked fervently, her good hand gripping Claudia’s arm.

“Whoa there, slow down. The crew is fine. They were picked up by the  _HMS Steadfast_ not long after the French frigate left and were, uh, are being taken back to port.” When Myka expected Claudia to continue however, the younger woman pushed a wisp of bright red hair behind her ear and fell silent, gnawing on her lip in telltale nervous gesture.

A suspicion gripped Myka. “Claud….we’re not on the _Steadfast_ are we?”

“Uh well no, we’re not.” The younger woman stalled for a moment and then turned eyes that had taken on a pleading look to her friend. “See, they couldn’t find you in the wreckage and the Captain said you were lost but I knew you weren’t because you’re just too stubborn so I kind of um, went AWOL but it’s alright because I got picked up by another ship and the Captain believed me when I said that you were still alive and she totally knows all about the Warehouse and we’re on the trail of that French ship and we’re going to find Pete and Artie, I mean Captain Arthur and...I should probably just stop talking now.”

Despite her growing concern and confusion, Myka had to bite her lip to keep from smiling at the midshipman’s typical ramblings. Talking without pausing for breath was a true specialty of Claudia’s.

“Slow down Claud. Start with where Pete and Artie are.”

Now the younger woman’s face fell. “We don’t know. They weren’t in the wreckage either but H…the Captain thinks that they’ve been taken prisoner by the French. They would have been in uniform. And we think the only reason they didn’t take you is that you had drifted so far away from the ship. We almost didn’t find you.”

The last was said in a small voice that made Myka reach out and pull Claudia to her again. “I’m here Claud, and I’m not going anywhere. Now tell me where here is,” she said sternly, shifting back to look the younger woman in the eye.

“Uh, well…we’re on a British ship, and uh, you know maybe I should just show you,” replied the redhead, suddenly evasive.

“Claudia Donovan…”

“Just trust me alright? We’re safe, and we’re on Pete and Artie’s trail, and here’s your clothes all clean and pressed.” Claudia beamed, producing a square bundle with a flourish.

Myka’s eyes narrowed.

Claudia’s expression turned pleading again.

The Commander sighed. “Fine. Help me get dressed.”

“Squeal of delight!”

“Claudia...”

“Right. Sorry, yes ma’am.”

Myka managed not to sigh this time.

* * *

Getting dressed required much more effort than Myka would have liked and her head was spinning when she finally managed to pull her boots on over her breeches. Still, even without her uniform jacket, simply being back in her own clothes – Claudia helped her tame her thick hair back into a regulation queue – she felt much more herself and ready to face whatever came. The younger woman also carefully buckled the officer’s sword belt around her hips and Myka stood up, resolutely ignoring the sharp surge of pain through her ribs and shoulder.

“Very well midshipman, lead the way,” she said with as much of her usual confidence as possible. In truth, Commander Bering was far from at her best, and had what she could only describe as a vibe. Something was off kilter, and that knowledge irritated her as much as it worried her. Vibes were supposed to be Commander Lattimer – Pete’s – strength. Myka preferred observation to detail, planning, careful assessment of facts and… Oh fresh air…

Her inward analysis cut short, Myka – leaning rather harder on Claudia than she would have ever admitted - walked through the cabin’s forward facing door and emerged onto the upper deck of a slim, triple-masted cutter as it sliced through an ocean like black glass, awash under the silver light of the full moon. Lanterns swayed gently here and there, throwing soft puddles of warm light on the spotless deck and neatly coiled rigging.

The main deck itself was empty, the crew presumably asleep except for, ah yes. Myka looked up and saw a figure outlined against the moonlight in the crow’s nest, a gleam of metal suggesting a spy glass in their hand. And there, in front of her at the ship’s wheel, with their back turned to Myka and Claudia stood a figure that could only have been the Captain. That feeling of something flared in Myka’s chest and, as if called, the figure at the wheel turned.

The world spun in a way that had nothing to do with her injuries.

Silhouetted against the moonlight, her raven hair flowing over her shoulders and her skin creamy porcelain above a white poet’s shirt tucked into breeches and thigh high leather boots, stood none other than …

“H.G. Wells.”


	2. Chapter 2

“That’s _Captain_ H.G. Wells if you please,” replied the other woman mildly.

Myka wasn’t sure what she wouldhave said – and there was plenty _to_ say to one of the Warehouse’s most notorious former agents – but as she took an angry step forward, her body betrayed her and the world tilted, greyness dancing in her vision as her legs gave out. She had a split second to realize that this was going to hurt and then…

Nothing.

Myka never hit the deck. Instead she found herself caught in slender arms and the part of Myka Bering that wasn’t incrediblyincensed that her body had the ill grace to nearly fainton her was equally incensed that she was quite impressed with how fast Captain Wells had moved.

“Careful darling, my physician and I worked very hard to keep you among the living, I’d hate to have all our work undone.”

The words were gentle and low and held the barest hint of mocking, but when Myka blinked to clear her vision and glare back at the woman holding her close, she found the dark eyes above her were soft, no trace of humor lurking at the corners of that sensuous mouth.

_Sensuous, where the hell did that come from…?_

“Mykes?” Claudia’s worried voice sounded from above her and Myka struggled to focus on it.

“I’m fine Claudia,” she forced out, pleased that her voice sounded steady enough. “If _Captain_ Wells would be so good as to help me stand.” Myka wasn’t even sure why she made the title an insult but Wells merely quirked the corner of her mouth and carefully helped her up.

“I assure you Commander, my intentions are most honorable,” Wells said softly before stepping away.

“Oh right, because I should believe a former Warehouse agent turned Privateer,” Myka spat, gritting her teeth and putting a hand on Claudia’s shoulder to steady herself. The younger woman stood unflinching, but Myka caught the flash of surprise and hurt on her angular features before Claudia schooled her expression. In truth Myka was surprised at her own anger. By all accounts Captain Wells had rescued both her and Claudia and behaved admirably. Myka, however, felt untethered, as if the loss of the _Artifact Hunter_ and Pete and Artie’s capture had left her truly without an anchor, adrift on unknown currents. Her sudden change in fortune, combined with the sudden appearance of the notorious privateer whose motives were, if not dangerous then at least suspect and untrustworthy…

But whatever Myka surmised about the Captain’s motives became a moot point because at that moment the injured woman’s body decided it had had enough thank you very much. The greyness that had been threatening her vision began to overwhelm her once more and Myka had just enough time to register the shock on H.G.’s face as Wells leapt forward again before the ground rushed up to meet her.

Myka never knew if the Captain caught her or not.

(But Claudia did, and the younger woman had to hide a smirk at the alacrity with which H.G. Wells moved as Myka sank toward the deck. As the two women moved the unconscious officer back into H.G.’s bed, Claudia started laying odds in her head.).

* * *

When Myka next awoke, it was apparently early evening. The Captain’s cabin was bathed in the warm colors of the setting sun where it slanted through the aft windows. A quick inventory of her body told Myka that her head, at least, was feeling much better. Her vision was clear and though her ribs ached, there was a great deal less pain and none of the world-tilting nausea of the previous night. A softly muttered curse turned Myka’s head and her gaze found Captain Wells standing at her desk, bent over a pile of charts and absently brushing her raven’s wing hair behind the curve of her ear. Even from across the room, the officer could tell the other woman was tired. Her slender shoulders slumped and she appeared to be in the same clothes as last night – only the addition of a red sash at her waist and a pair of pistols in worn leather holsters at her legs was new. With her shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal slim forearms corded with tendon and muscle and her collar open to reveal rather more of her chest than was strictly necessary she looked, Myka had to admit, rakishlyhandsome.

 _Oh_ do _get a grip, Bering._

Her internal chastisement was interrupted as the Captain raised her head. Dark eyes fell on her and Myka cursed the way her heart fluttered at the black gaze looking back at her. For a moment neither woman spoke and then Myka took a breath and swallowed her pride.

“I…thank you. For pulling Claudia and myself from the water.”

Instead of replying immediately, Wells merely nodded, her eyes holding Myka’s gaze steadily. The moment stretched nearly to the point of discomfort and then the Captain shook her head. Running a hand through her hair, she walked from behind her desk and sank into the same chair Claudia had occupied last night. The Privateer’s posture was as graceful as it was careless and Myka felt a twitch of envy. She _never_ looked that boneless. Tipping her head against the chair back, Wells let her eyes fall closed.

“Do you know why I left the Warehouse?” she asked conversationally.

Whatever topic Myka had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t that.

The question, however, appeared to be rhetorical, for Wells continued to speak without waiting for Myka’s reply.

“I assume you are aware that there is something of a roaring black market in Artifact trading?" Wells asked, tilting her head and cracking an eyelid, casting a glance in Myka’s direction.

When Myka cautiously nodded assent, however, Wells merely returned to her previous position, apparently unconcerned. Myka tried not to focus on the elegant column of her throat or the sharp line of her collar bone visible at the laces of her shirt.

“Did you know that most of the time, unless the Artifacts being traded are considered ‘especially dangerous or valuable’ that Agents are ordered to ignore them?” Well’s normally rich voice took on a distinct edge.

“I, well no. But I mean it’s obvious we can’t track down _every_ object. We simply don’t have the resources!” Myka felt indignation rising at the implied slight in Wells’ voice.

“Ah yes. That is the favored reason isn’t it? ‘ _Insufficient resources.’_ Well at least the Regents are consistent.” There was no mistaking the bitterness in the other woman’s tone anymore. “Do you know the _real_ reason we aren’t sent after more of those Artifacts? Because most of them end up killing the people who buy and sell them. It’s a neat little bit of social evolution really, and the best part is that it makes our job _so_ much easier. Once the Artifact has gone off and the thieves and brigands and generally unnecessary people that had the _audacity_ to handle it are gone, Warehouse Agents can just swoop in and snag it, bag it and tag it, as it were.”

wells no longer slouched. Instead she now leaned forward, her frame taut with tension and her hands running through her hair in what was apparently a common gesture.

“Don’t mistake me, _Commander,”_ (and now it was Wells’ turn to use the naval officer’s title like an curse) I have little sympathy for a great many of those men, but what about the innocents they harm in the process?” She looked up, pinning Myka with a glare that fairly burned. “I was like you once. I had faith that we made the right choices; that our grander mission was worth the cost of the inevitable 'collateral damage _.'_ That faith cost a family their lives _._ It cost the life of a _child.”_ Now Wells looked away, her expression becoming haunted and distant and her voice softening, weighing heavy with regret.

“I was on the trail of an Artifact that gave the bearer the power to shape and bend any metal. I became suspicious that it was unstable, and that it had the potential for great destruction. I was getting close, _so close…_ ” She trailed off for a moment and Myka found herself holding her breath, at once terrified and desperate to hear what came next.

Wells let out a soft sigh, her body seeming to deflate as the tension gave way to sadness. “I was called away. Intelligence led us to believe that a group of Roman Artifacts from an earlier Warehouse had surfaced in Southern France and were on the way to the Vatican. The Regents couldn’t let an institution like that get its hands on moreArtifacts. I, along with my partner at the time, was sent to France. I argued, pleading to stay and take care of the Artifact I was on the trail of before departing. I was denied.”

Now, finally, Wells turned to look at Myka. “We found the objects and brought them back, but upon returning I found my suspicions had been correct. The Artifact _had_ been unstable. Instead of harming thieves, or brigands or dangerous men, however, it killed a blacksmith. An ailing blacksmith who had paid dear for a tool he hoped would let him continue to feed his family. His wife and six year old daughter were bringing him his lunch when the Artifact caused an explosion in the forge. There wasn’t enough left of any of them for a burial.”

Myka couldn’t stop the tiny gasp of horror that escaped her. If Wells heard her, though, she gave no indication. The other woman appeared lost in memory again.

“I began to research other cases after that. The number of innocents that have died because of Artifacts that we knew about, but did not attempt to find…let us just say the number was far, far too high. I took my case to the Regents, begged them to hire more Agents, to change the rules, to let us hunt these black markets…I was told no.”

Once more Wells' gaze fell on Myka’s face, and the officer saw the bitter pain of failure and regret carved on those elegant features as clearly as if written in ink.

“I could not accept that answer. So I left. I left the Warehouse and began to do what I did best – chase Artifacts. But I chase them _my_ way. I hunt the dark underbelly of society and deal with criminals and thieves and whoever I need to, to stop another innocent family from being destroyed. Most of the Artifacts I destroy. Some I return to the Warehouse. One or two…” now she flashed Myka a bitter smile and leaned back in the chair, at ease and in command once again.

“And do you know what the Regents do? _Nothing,”_ she smirked. “They do nothing because it suits them to have me out here – the loose cannon they cannot control, but who gets results where they fail. I am bound by no nationality, no government can claim me, and therefore I can go where I want and deal with whom I want. Of course, if I’m caught, any foreign government is perfectly within their rights to kill me and my crew. And the Regentswon’t lift a finger to stop it.” She said the last with a bitter, mocking humor that made Myka want to cringe, but she found herself unable to look away from Wells. Those dark eyes had Myka trapped again, and she found herself berefect of the strength to break away.

“My crew know the risks, even if they are largely unaware of the true nature of the objects we search for. I am, however, rather good at finding things other than Artifacts. Their retirement funds are quite extensive and you will find them very loyal. Only my first mate is aware of the true nature of my work and he has sworn to continue the mission should I fall.” She paused for a moment, her jaw tightening.

“Is that all this is then? Another Artifact hunt?” Myka blurted out.

In the process of standing, Wells paused. “Does it really matter?” she asked, her mouth quirking in that bitter, sarcastic way.

“Yes.”

Whatever the Captain read in Myka’s expression, the cynical twist of her features smoothed and she shrugged one shoulder. “In part. I believe that the French are somehow acquiring Artifacts. I think that ship that destroyed the _Hunter_ was carrying one. I don’t believe it was mere skill of their Captain that brought about Arthur’s defeat, and I believe this is part of a bigger pattern of Artifacts going missing, their trails suddenly going cold. Someone else is out there: Someone with resources and motive. And I believe _they_ are behind the abduction of Arthur and your partner, Pete is it?”

Myka merely nodded, still trying to comprehend all that the other woman had divulged without warning. Wells had a parting shot to deliver, however. Turning and striding toward the second door in the cabin – which must, Myka assumed, lead below decks – she paused.

“I will not see Artifacts and Agents of the Warehouse in the hands of an enemy government. Think of me what you will Commander Bering, but do not doubt my resolve, and do _not_ get in my way.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving Myka feeling as weary as if she had just fought some kind of battle, but with no idea whether she had won or lost. In the end, Myka decided that retreat was the better part of valor and lay down to sleep again.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning presented Myka with a very empty stomach and a slight woman with dark olive skin and elegant cheekbones bending over her to check the remaining bandages bandages.

“Ah, excellent Commander, I am glad to see you awake, if you can, please sit up.”

Myka blinked, momentarily nonplussed to hear a privateer speak in the precise tones characteristic of … “Oxford or Cambridge?” she queried as she attempted to raise herself up.

Her examiner sniffed hautily but her eyes crinkled at the edges and she smiled when she tossed her tight black braid back over her shoulder, deftly unfastening the bandages from around Myka’s arm. The woman – who Myka realized must be Captain Wells’ physician – wore what appeared to be common garb on _The Time Machine -_ a loose fitting shirt, in this case of deep green, tied at the waist with a sash over breeches and worn leather boots. “Oxford of course," She replied archly. The humor on her face faded quickly however, and Myka recognized the professional detachment of a dedicated surgeon. "How are you feeling? Any residual pain…here?” The physician’s dark eyes became sharply focused on Myka’s face as slender fingers pressed carefully at different places around Myka's ribs and shoulder.

Myka was shocked to realize that, “No, nothing, but I thought…” she trailed off in confusion.

“Yes, you were badly wounded. Several shattered ribs and your shoulder was dislocated. We had to reset your forearm as well.” As she spoke, she pulled the last of the bandages away from Myka’s ribs and helped to stretch her arm. Other than some residual stiffness, Myka felt utterly normal. Her curiosity must have been plain because the doctor chuckled softly.

“The Bandages of Hippocrates. Captain Wells… _liberated_ them several years ago and they have been most useful during some of the crew’s more…adventurous undertakings.” Dark eyes flashed with that dry humor again, accompanied by a rather devilish smile before the woman composed her features into the mask of a professional once more. “You would do well to exercise that arm, but I strongly suggest caution. Begin with small tasks and do not push yourself. Pain is the body’s warning system, and while I doubt you are used to listening to that system, or your doctor, I would appreciate not having to bring you out of a relapse.”

Myka sniffed, stung. “I can follow orders.”

Another quicksilver grin and the doctor shook her head. “Forgive me Commander, but I highly doubt that. I do not think it is too great a conjecture to suggest you and my Captain have that in common. You follow orders only when it suits your purpose.”

And before Myka could fully process _t_ hatstatement, the woman held out her hand. “Forgive me, my manners are oft forgotten when I am dealing with a patient. I am Dr. Katherine James, ship’s physician here aboard the _Time Machine._ ”

Still slightly dazed, Myka shook the proffered hand. “Myka Bering.”

Katherine nodded once then stood. “You will likely be very hungry, feel free to eat what you wish, but slowly. I think you will find our ship’s cook is far superior to what you would find on a ship in His Majesty’s Navy.”

And with that, she left Myka alone to get dressed – an activity that while tiring, at least didn’t leave her head spinning. Buckling her sword belt into place and shrugging on her navy, white and gold uniform jacket and securing her hair, Myka took a slow breath and took stock.

 _I am traveling in the company of perhaps the most notorious Privateer on the high seas; Captain Artie and Pete are likely held captive on the French ship that destroyed the_ Hunter _; we are headed God knows where and I’ve just been healed by an Artifact. However, I appear to be in one piece and Claudia is safe, and whether or not I can trust Captain Wells, she has promised we are on the trail of those French jackals_.

“Very well. Just another day in the employ of the Warehouse.” Myka lifted her chin and straightened her uniform one last time before striding out the door that Dr. James previously exited through.

* * *

Sure enough, the second exit did lead below-decks. Claudia pounced on her nearly as soon as Myka emerged from the Captain’s quarters and insisted on giving her a tour. After first escorting her to the galley and procuring food, however. Priorities had to be kept in order. Myka had to own, Captain Wells ran an impressive ship. There was not a single board or bit of brass that didn’t gleam, and though the ship was fairly small for a warship, it was efficient. The food was – as promised – a significant cut above the average Royal Navy fare and there was even (Myka was not ashamed to admit she gaped) an ingenious contraption that allowed the crew to bathe on a regular basis. The “shower” (Claudia’s term) was rather cramped, but water poured from a cistern above and could be controlled by means of a small sluice gate, draining away through cleverly designed slats in the floor. “Seriously, this is the best smelling crew you’ve ever met. It’s _brilliant,_ ” Claudia gushed.

The crew in question was an eclectic lot, both men and women, most somewhere between Claudia’s and Myka’s age and of varying origins. A tiny part of Myka noticed that for what was essentially a pirate crew, they were very well dressed and most of them moved like professional fighters, going about their business with quick efficiency. Many also had at least a wave or a jest for Claudia. When Myka raised an eyebrow at her young friend, Claudia just blushed and shrugged. “It got lonely waiting for you to wake up.”

Myka instantly softened. “I really  _am_ sorry Claudia, I promise it’s hardly my intention to get into these scrapes, and don’t think I’m not aware I owe you a thank you for convincing Captain Wells to search for me. Whatever I may think of her intentions, she did save my life.”

Claudia looked stunned for a moment and then launched herself into Myka’s arms for a hug that was as tight as it was brief. “I’m sorry ma’am, I know, it’s just…”

“It’s okay, Claud. And I don’t think there’s any point in keeping rank at the moment. We are, after all, traveling with a pirate.”

“Privateer, if you please,” came the amused reply and Myka looked up to see Wells striding toward them. They stood at the prow of the ship, looking out over the ocean. Myka was simply enjoying being out of bed and no longer in pain. The wind was soft, not enough to tear their words away, but enough to tousle the Captain’s hair most fetchingly.

_Oh do stop being ridiculous, Bering._

Instead, Myka got a firm grip on her tongue and forced her tone into civility. “My apologies Captain. Privateer.”

Wells leaned casually against the railing and chuckled, her voice rich and low. “Oh don’t bother. I am all the things they call me Commander. Pirate, Scoundrel, Wicked Temptress, Thief. I’m quite sure there are more, though no one has been so bold as to say them to my face.” Despite the mockery in her voice, there was a spark of real humor in her dark eyes and Myka found that she was smiling in spite of herself. Biting her lip, she turned to say something to Claudia, only to find the younger woman had vanished.

_Damn her for a traitor._

Myka resolutely tried to ignore the pounding of her heart as she turned back to the Captain, who – she was unable notto notice – today wore a deep crimson silk vest that stretched to mid-thigh and was belted with a black leather bandolier. Over Wells’ shoulder rose the unmistakable shape of a katana’s grip and if her knee high leather boots weren’t shinier than normal, Myka would eat her uniform. It steadied her a bit, seeing slight evidence the other woman was perhaps as off-keel as Myka herself. 

 _Not as unflappable as you seem,  eh Wells?_ Myka asked silently. 

“I actually came to make sure you were well,” the other woman said after a moment’s only slightly awkward silence.

Myka looked at her sharply, but once again, could find no hint of mockery or humor in the Captain’s face.

“Didn’t your physician give you a full report?” she retorted, tilting her head.

Wells simply held her gaze. “Dr. James is a most able physician, and yes, she informed me that you have sufficiently healed from your injuries, but that is not what I was inquiring about. I was asking if you are _well.”_

A quick flush of shame colored Myka’s cheeks. Why did her tongue seem to run away with her around this woman? Her manners, long drilled into her by a stern father and an even harsher life in the Royal Navy had apparently washed away while she drifted unconscious. And that simply would not do. Taking a slow breath of the brisk sea air, Myka turned and looked at Wells, gathering her thoughts into their normal precise order. Unfortunately, it proved to be a mistaken course of action, for she found herself caught by those damnable eyes once more, which had the unfortunate effect of sending her mind spinning, so that instead of a polite reply, she found the truth forcing its way passed her lips.

“No. I am _not_ well. My Captain and my partner have – as far as I know – been abducted by an unknown enemy, one who is possibly in possession of an Artifact. I am presumably considered lost at sea by the Warehouse. I have _no_ way to send intelligence to my superiors regarding my whereabouts or those of Captain Arthur or Pete and no matter how damnably charming you are, I do not entirely trustyou, Captain Wells.”

Myka nearly bit her tongue at the admission, but it would seem any ability to control what she said had vanished the moment she was hoisted out of the sea and onto the _Time Machine._

It would appear that her outburst took Wells as much by surprise as it had Myka herself. She blinked and opened her mouth, only to shut it again. “Well,” she said finally, her tone cautious. “I find I am torn between feeling flattered and insulted, Commander. I must admit, you leave me rather off balance myself.”

Now it was Myka’s turn to be taken aback and for a moment, both women looked away. Wells ran a hand through her hair and Myka fiddled with the gold braid on her sleeve.

“Ah, however,” the Captain cleared her throat, seeming to recover. “I did also want to discuss the matter of our hunt with you. You were much closer to that frigate than we were, and while it is my hope we are still chasing the same ship, I would appreciate any details you might have regarding the encounter. I am hopeful you may have some clues as to what Artifact we are facing. And as for sending a report,” now the privateer’s eyes took on their familiar devilish sparkle. “I may be able to assist you with _that_ as well.”

* * *

“Assistance” it turned out, came in the form of a member of the crew. Striding to midships, Wells let out a shrill whistle and between one blink and the next, a slight figure slipped over the edge of the crow’s nest and down the rigging so fast Myka gaped like a first year Lieutenant. The figure landed lightly on the deck and straightened in front of Wells, resolving itself into a tiny scrap of a girl with pale blonde hair and bright _gold_ eyes.

“Aye Cap’n?” she said with a thick accent that spoke of common upbringing and suggested English was not her birth tongue.

“Sarah darling, I have need of your one of your friends. Commander Bering has a message to send to London.”

Sarah, who couldn’t have been any older than Claudia, shot a shrewd look at Myka and nodded. “Ah ken get one o’ them large gulls. W’that work?”

“Most definitely. How long do you suspect it might take?”

Sarah grinned. “Oh not very, s’ long as I got somat to feed it. Wi’ a good wind, it kin be back to port right quick. Couple o’ days tops.”

Wells simply nodded as if this exchange made perfect sense. “Very well then. Carry on crewman.”

The girl threw another salute, then jogged across the deck and hopped up to the ship’s railing. She leaned forward into the wind and then….she simply sat there.

Myka’s confusion must have shown because Wells chuckled. “Sarah is not, I have come to believe, entirely human. Or at least some of her abilities are beyond the general scope of human talents.”

Myka's curiosity must have been plain to see, for her companion smiled again before her expression turned dark. “I found her tied to a stake on the mainland with an angry crowd about to burn her for being a witch. If she ever had a family they were long dead. She asked me for sanctuary. I granted it. Just watch.”

For a few long moments nothing happened and then a raucous call split the air. Craning her neck around, Myka watched with fascination as one of the massive ocean going gulls soared across the bow of the ship, circled back, spiraled down and landed at Sarah’s side. The bird and the girl stared at each other for a moment, and then, as if this sort of thing happened every day, Sarah picked the wild bird up in her arms and walked carefully back across the deck to where the Captain and Myka stood.

“I’ll just go get her some food aye?”

Wells smiled fondly. “We’ll be ready when you return Sarah.” And with that, she beckoned and strode back across the deck and into her cabin, a bemused Myka following in her wake. Once inside, Wells wasted little time.

“Here,” she said, handing Myka a slip of thick paper. “You’ll have to make it brief I’m afraid.”

Still not entirely sure what had just transpired, Myka found herself putting quill to paper almost against her will. She did as the Captain bid though, adding her status and Claudia’s as alive and in pursuit of the French frigate and hopefully Captain Nielson and Commander Lattimer. Lest it be mistaken for a hoax, Myka included the code that each Agent was given as an identifier to use in case of emergencies. The whole of the message was no more than a few lines, and easily folded up. Wells took it without reading it and sealed the scrap inside a tiny metal tube attached to some leather straps.

Striding back to the deck, the Captain found Sarah with the gull still in her arms, eating something out of her hand. “Think about where you want the gull to go, Commander,” Wells spoke softly.

The words conjured up the memory of the Warehouse instantly in her mind, its familiar entry way in London as easy to picture as her own hand.

There was an odd flash in Sarah’s gold eyes and then the girl was holding the gull carefully as Wells wrapped the small metal tube around its leg. “Can it make it?” she asked the girl, who merely sniffed in response.

“Course she can.”

The message safely affixed, Sarah looked long and hard at the gull once more, and Myka could have sworn it _nodded_ back at the girl. Then Sarah was walking to the edge of the railing and tossing the great white bird into the air where it promptly beat its wings twice, thrice, caught an updraft and wheeled away, dwindling to a speck and disappearing.

Sarah was talking to the Captain when Myka turned back to them and caught the tail end of their conversation. The tiny crewmember seemed to be considering something Wells had said.

“Mmm, probly goin’ta take a bit ta get ‘im back ‘ere, but once he does, I’ll send him along toward th’ coast.”

“Excellent. And I know they aren’t the most reliable watchers, but if you could, ask some more of those gulls to keep a look out. They at least have numbers and can travel quite far over water.”

“Aye Cap’n. I’ll keep ye’ updated,” the tiny girl saluted before turning to swarm back up the mast again.

Wells turned to meet Myka’s questioning gaze and let out a soft sigh of frustration. “I’m afraid I’ve lost the French ship. It’s part of the reason I’m so damned sure they have an Artifact. They keep evading me, and while I would hardly boast to be the bestCaptain on the high seas, I am _not_ easy to outrun.” The sheer consternation in the woman’s voice was enough to make Myka bite her lip to stop from smiling. Wells seemed to sense her mood anyway because she made a wry face.

“Something on your mind, Commnader?”

“Not at all, Captain.” Myka was rather proud she managed to keep her features impassive.

Wells narrowed her eyes and then shook her head, gesturing and turning on her heel. Strolling back along her deck, the Captain of the _Time Machine_ nodded to her crew, stopping here and there with a word for many of them as she and Myka made their way back to her cabin. Wells held the door for the Officer and then gestured for Myka to take the chair by her bed before pulling a slender cord next to her desk and dropping into the chair behind it.

“I’ve asked Sarah to see if she can’t coax more of her winged rascals into spying for us. She has a close bond with one of the great hawks that has come in handy on more than one occasion. Those damned gulls of hers can be useful little buggers, at least when they’re not eating our entire store of fish.” There was genuine fondness in her voice, however, and Myka had to admit to herself that whatever else she might be, H.G. Wells was a Captain who cared a great deal for her crew. Even her brief glimpses of life aboard the _Time Machine_ made it quite obvious to Myka that the men and women aboard the ship returned that regard fiercely.

Rather than delve into waters she had no charts for, however, Myka focused on the business at hand. Unfastening her uniform jacket, she settled into her chair and looked at the woman lounging behind the desk. “Where do you think they’ve gone?”

Wells nodded at the charts scattered across her desk. “After they attacked the _Artifact Hunter,_ they sailed west for open water, but if my guess is correct, they’ve since turned back for land. The only question remains, in what direction? It is my hope that they’ve headed north, to try for a port in Scotland or Ireland perhaps. I have a suspicion, however, that they’ve gone south and are trying to outrun us round the continent.”

“What makes you say that?”

“In truth? Merely a hunch. I wish I could offer solid proof, but I have none. I have only the pattern of behavior and the hints that there is a greater force at work here than simple black market trading. I am making an assumption that if such a force exists, it is not currently residing within our country’s borders. Scotland and Ireland remain too isolated and small to be of strategic value. That leaves the continent.”

Their conversation was interrupted as one of the crew knocked softly and entered bearing a tray with covered dishes. The young man placed it in front of Wells, sketched a salute and left. The Captain waved a hand toward the tray and removed two pewter tankards from a sideboard. “Join me, won’t you?”

Scooting the heavy chair up to the desk, Myka helped the other woman push aside her charts and then gratefully took a plate of what smelled like – and on examination was – flaky, steaming hot cooked fish and rice with a pleasantly spicy taste. Wells removed a bottle of wine from the same cupboard as the cups and poured Myka a generous drink. Outside the sun was slipping toward the horizon, turning the sky to gold. The effect was to bathe the cabin in warm light, turning Wells’ hair to mahogany and lending her a golden corona.

 _For heaven’s_ sake, _Bering._

“So what do we do now?” Myka fumbled for the earlier thread of their conversation, as genuinely interested in Wells' insights as she was to distract her own treacherous thoughts.

Wells took a contemplative sip of her wine and her expression when she turned back to Myka was wry.

“Now Sarah sends her little scouts in as many directions as possible…and we wait.”


	4. Chapter 4

And wait they did. In ones and twos and threes, gulls and sometimes fisher-eagles came and went from the crow’s nest, winging out in all directions to disappear on the horizons. While they flew, the crew passed the time. ‘Waiting’ on the _Time Machine_ was a bit different than any experience Myka could recall as a member of the Royal Navy. There were the usual activities such as cleaning everything _._ Twice. Fishing on long lines thrown over the side to tempt the great finned fish (an endeavor that when successful, led to incredible dinners) was also common, with extra meat being dried, salted and stored. The crew also drilled – battle drills, emergency drills, storm drills, even hand to hand fighting.

That was another surprise. Not the crew’s skill per se, but the regularity with which they drilled. Truly, Myka had served aboard Naval vessels with less discipline (though certainly none who sailed under the flag of the Warehouse of course). Neatly hidden caches of weapons existed all over the ship and every member of the crew was an expert at some kind of blade, bow or firearm. Indeed, usually more than one. Wells expected them to keep those weapons and skills sharp. Bow strings were oiled, swords and knives sharpened and polished, gun powder stores checked and rechecked, cannons cleaned… the tasks went on and on. The details of a warship were myriad and Myka could not help but be impressed again and again with the efficiency and cohesiveness of Wells’ crew. The Captain herself was not exempt from those drills, often trading duties with her First Mate – a handsome young man who was called ‘Jinx’ that Claudia formed a close friendship with – to either observe or participate.

Unlike a ship in the Royal Navy however, there was no ‘busy’ work. Every action had a purpose, but once that purpose was completed, the crew of the _Time Machine_ were free to sleep, eat, dice, gossip, or find some other source of entertainment. (Liaisons were permitted as long as they did not disturb others or disrupt the ability of any crewmember to do their job.)

As days turned into weeks, however, and no news of their quarry returned, the most popular source of entertainment for the crew of the _Time Machine_ became neither dicing nor fishing, nor other physicalpursuits. Rather it was watching their Captain and the Lieutenant-Commander. Or more aptly, the daily sparring matches Bering and Wells engaged in. Not verbal (though there were plenty of significant looks about thatwhen the Captain and Commander were not present). Rather, these were matches of a more literal variety.

H.G. Wells was widely acknowledged as an excellent swordswoman. Her battles in the service of the Warehouse were still the stuff of legend among Agents even in her disgrace and her blade was whispered to have bested every foe it crossed.

But in Myka Bering – a woman raised from birth by a father who had no son and therefore passed all his skills and expectations on to her – Wells found her equal.

Myka wasn’t just good with a blade, she was a natural. And not just with the rapier or the cutlass, but the longsword, the knife, the sabre, even the katana: Anything with an edge to it, she handled as if it were merely an extension of her arm. What had begun as a friendly offer to help Myka regain reflexes dulled slightly by injury soon turned into a daily duel that would have made even the most hardened swordsman gape. The entire ship became their sparring circle, leaving the crew to make sure they stayed out of the way (while they placed wagers).

Nearly three weeks had passed since Sarah had sent the first gull winging toward London with Myka’s report to the Warehouse. They had yet to receive any news regarding their quarry. Those gulls that had returned reported nothing. Since the ones returning had only been sent as far north as the southern coasts of Ireland and England however, Myka was not surprised. Though she wouldn’t admit it, Myka agreed with Captain Wells’ hypothesis regarding their missing frigate. They would not find her on the emerald shores of her home: No, the French had gone south. They just had to find out _where._

None of that, however, was currently on Myka's mind.

_Clang!_

“Oh do be careful with my ship, Commander. You know how I hate to replace things!” Wells laughed, spinning and aiming a kick at Myka’s head which was easily avoided as Myka pressed her attack across the aftcastle. The sea was calm, only a slight breeze ruffling the sails overhead, the sky an endless blue bowl with white cotton wisps of clouds scattered carelessly across it.

Myka saw none of it. Her entire world was focused on the woman in front of her. The Captain wore black breeches tucked into her black thigh-high boots and a white shirt, belted at the waist with a deep red sash. A matching red kerchief kept her thick black hair bound and she wore black leather swordsman’s gloves. If it weren’t for the fact that they were fighting no-holds-barred with edged weapons (rapiers today) Myka Bering might have allowed herself to notice just how unfairly dashingH.G. Wells looked.

Dodging a high thrust and countering with a slashing attack however, she was careful to keep her mind on her footwork.

Myka was hardly aware of the crew scattered about – sitting in the rigging, leaning against the railings – instead her focus was consumed by her opponent’s eyes and shoulders. If a move came, it started from the chest and it gave Myka that split second to evade or counter.

The sound of steel meeting steel rang in the open air as she and Wells came together. They harsh rasping of their breathing was audible across the deck, sweat beading at their temples, but neither backed down, refusing to give quarter.

“If you’d just stay still, I wouldn’t have to worry about wrecking your precious ship,” Myka gritted, grinning fiercely.

“Oh but where is the fun in that? Unless of course you’re tired, Officer Bering?”

 _Parry, attack, riposte, evade, jump a water barrel, parry again_. Several crew members scattered as the two combatants fought their way up the stairs, only to meet again at the wheel, blades sliding along each other like lovers in a deadly caress.

Myka saw the move coming almost an instant too late. Almost. When Wells’ knee came up to meet her stomach she pushed herself back into the cabin wall, using the door to reverse her momentum and with a lunge she attacked.

The moment seemed to slow, time stretching between the two fighters. Wells saw the attack but she was off balance. In that split second that can seem like eternity in moments such as this, Myka realized what would happen and pulled her attack, but it was too late to change completely the momentum of their bodies, and with a soft hiss, barely audible above the sound of the breeze, the point of Myka’s rapier sliced through the Captain’s shirt and opened a line of red across her upper arm.

Myka froze. “Oh hell, Wells I’m….” but whatever she was, was lost as Wells used Myka’s momentary distraction to press her advantage and Myka found herself pressed up against the cabin wall, Wells’ body against her own and a length of cold steel at her throat.

“Tsk tsk Commander, you should know better than to drop your guard like that,” Wells almost purred. The only reason Myka swallowed was exertion though. It had nothing to do with the register of that voice.  Nothing at all.

For a long moment the two combatants stood frozen, only the sound of their still-ragged breathing indicating that they were, indeed, alive and not merely carved statues. And then, with a wicked smile, the Captain backed up and sheathed her blade. Not, however, before Myka had plenty of opportunity to register the feeling of that slender form pressed against her own; a feeling that was far, far more unsettling than the sudden turn of fortune and her own loss of the bout. Unsettling because it had been decidedly pleasurable.

Wells seemed to misinterpret Myka's assuredly dazed expression.

“Forgive me Commander, I hope I did not offend your sense of honor too highly. I am, after all, a pirate.” It was said with humor, but the merest thread of bitterness in Wells' voice that Myka had become so adept at detecting managed to drag her out of her reverie.

_Get. A. Hold of yourself, Bering._

Shaking her head, she forced a breezy smile and sheathed her blade. “Hardly, Captain. I concede the match. You won fair and square.”

Myka tried very hard to pretend that the sparkle which leapt into Wells’ eyes at her statement did not make her heart flutter.

“A forfeit then. You can bandage my deadly wounds over dinner.” The Captain grinned.

Myka merely rolled her eyes and removed her own gloves, tucking them into her belt. “Oh don’t be melodramatic. ‘Tis barely a scratch.”

“Well yes, but you _did_ ruin my second favorite tunic. It shall have to be stitched and won’t _that_ look common.”

“Well if you had dodged a little quicker, I wouldn’t have ruined your tunic.” Myka shot back archly.

“Well if…oh bollocks. Very well, I concede defeat in this arena.”

“As you should. One should always acknowledge their betters.”

The indignant snort of the Captain's laughter followed them into Wells’ cabin. Lost in their playful bickering, neither woman noticed the amount of money changing hands among Claudia and the _Time Machine’s_ crew.


	5. Chapter 5

Two more days passed while the crew of the _Time Machine_ existed in that liminal state. Myka caught herself on numerous occasions scanning the sky for the shape of wings, but the horizon remained unblemished and the waiting continued. She sparred with Captain Wells and continued to eat in the Captain’s quarters.

Those dinners had quickly become, much to Myka’s surprise, the highlight of her days. Despite her initial reservations, she truly enjoyed Wells’ company. Complicated relationship with the Warehouse aside, the privateer was an entertaining host and Myka found they had a great deal in common. They loved the same literature and music and – much to Myka’s not-all-that-great dismay – had extremely complimentary views on topics ranging from the political, to the personal. Wells was also quite the story-teller (not uncommon among sailors, but the Captain had a true gift for drawing her audience in) and Myka passed many an evening laughing at tales of Wells' adventures with the Warehouse. Despite being nearly the same age as Myka, Wells came to the Warehouse much earlier, apprenticing at just 12 years of age. As a result, she had a great many stories of her youthful exploits, particularly because she had been – in her own words – quite the little hooligan.

“Honestly there were days Chaturanga practically dragged me back to the Warehouse by the scruff of my neck,” she concluded one such tale fondly. And somehow, despite the presence of command and grace the other woman exuded, Myka had no trouble picturing a grinning, soot-streaked little girl, in boy’s clothes a size too big, being forcibly “escorted” back to the Warehouse by the venerable old man. It was no wonder she’d become his favorite.

By the time several weeks passed, Myka found that she eagerly looked forward to hearing Wells recount another scrape over a cup of good wine as the sun sank below the horizon outside.

Another point in her favor, the privateer also refused any attempt by Myka to give back her bed.

“Nonsense. Basic laws of hospitality demand nothing less. I assure you, tis no hardship.” And because it was a ridiculously nice bed for a warship, Myka let herself be persuaded. Claudia had her own hammock and locker with the other women of the crew and confessed that her lot was also vastly improved from the _Artifact Hunter,_ as Wells’ ship had a solid wall between men’s and women’s quarters. There was no snoring to keep the ladies awake at night.

Their waiting ended abruptly in the middle of the night. 

* * *

 

Claudia, breathless and nearly vibrating with excitement, shook Myka awake.

“Mykes, its back, the bird is back. We know where the French went and H.G. was right they turned south to Spain and Sarah says the gull says a massive storm is heading toward us from the west.” All of that was said seemingly without taking a breath and before the younger woman had finished, Myka was stomping into her boots and shrugging her coat on over her un-tucked shirt. She reached Wells at the ship’s wheel just as she was buckling on her sword belt.

Looking up from the fastening, Myka was greeted by the sight of H.G. Wells in full command of her ship.

The sky was pitch-black but Myka could sense the storm just out of reach – an impending weight behind them. As if to underscore that knowledge, lightning split the sky to the aft of the ship, illuminating a massive bank of clouds that seemed to swallow the earth itself.

In front of her, Wells stood, legs braced and hands on hips as she shouted orders and her crew boiled over the ship, lashing rigging and making the _Time Machine_ ready for a gale.

In a pool of warm lantern light, Myka caught a glimpse of the other woman’s face.

She glowed.

There was a fierce energy that crackled about Wells' lithe frame and a light in her eyes that had nothing to do with the lamps or the approaching lightning. This was a woman utterly in her element.

Myka found it suddenly difficult to breathe.

And then Wells was standing in front of her. “Forgive me Commander, I know it is not your nature to stand idle, but my crew will be going below soon and I would ask you to join them. We will set a relay watch and I will take the wheel. There is no reason for you to be out in this, Myka.”

Something about the way Wells said her name gave Myka pause when she would have protested. It was the first time Wells had ever spoken the officer’s given name.

And so, against her instinct and training, she nodded. “Very well.” Her mouth quirked. “I suppose I should go make sure the wine collection is properly stowed. I would so hate for something to happen to it.”

Wells let loose a rich laugh just as a breeze rose from the inky water, tugging at her hair. To the stern, lightning flashed again and this time, the sound of it carried easily across the water. Without another word, Wells turned on her heel, barking last minute orders. Unable to stop herself, Myka glanced up at the rigging. Not even her trained eyes could find a single rope out of place, however, and the last crewmember – Sarah, it would appear – was already swarming down the mast with the lantern in hand. Indeed, they were now running mostly dark, only a single light in the prow signaling the bow. The last sight Myka had of H.G. was the woman clipping herself to a thick line attached to the steering column and buttoning her oilskin great-coat around her.

The storm was upon them in moments.

* * *

As gales on the high seas went, Myka was relieved to find that this was hardly the worst she had endured. Still, the _Time Machine_ was smaller than the _Artifact Hunter_ and the sensation was still unfortunately akin to riding a cork tossed onto a raging river.

 _Which is essentially true,_ she mused ruefully as the deck pitched wildly again. They were running before the storm, heading south and east, counting on the gale to blow itself out before they came too close to land.

_Well, at least we’ll make significant time on that damn frigate._

Every now and then (if she were being honest, every few moments) Myka looked up and tried to discern Captain Wells’ figure at the wheel. In truth Myka was less worried about the woman falling prey to some accident than she was afraid the stubborn pirate would catch her death of chill. Still, Myka knew without a shred of doubt that any attempt to relieve Wells at the helm of her ship would be utterly futile.

So Myka waited.

And waited.

And waited…

One could just discern the merest shade of grey bleeding into the endless, ragged black of the storm when the rain began to soften its harsh clattering against the windows. Shrugging her coat around her tightly, Myka stood up just as a soft knock signaled someone at the cabin door.

“Come in,” she called, wondering who on earth would be knocking. Claudia treated any door as merely a suggestion that one pause before barging in and the rest of the crew, while civil, had never been particularly warm toward her, preferring to keep their distance.

The door opened to none other than Wells’ First Mate, the boyishly handsome Jinx. He paused just over the threshold, a swift glance taking in her clothes and her posture. Something in the set of his shoulders eased slightly.

“So, if I were to suggest that it might be time for the Captain to relinquish the wheel…” he trailed off, brilliant blue eyes intent on Myka’s face. She suspected she was being tested somehow.

Ignoring the feeling, Myka merely smiled wryly. “I would say it’s quite likely we’ll have to pry her away physically, but I’m game if you are.”

She was right, Jinx did relax, a light dancing in his eyes. Buttoning the last button on her uniform coat, Myka waited as the young man crossed the cabin and opened the door for her in an unexpectedly gallant gesture. “Just out of curiosity, what do you normallydo in these situations?” she queried.

Jinx paused for a moment then shrugged ruefully. “Wait till she passes out, or send the doc with a drink that has a little something extrain it.”

Myka blinked, somehow not surprised. “Let us see if we can appeal to her better reason this time, shall we?”

She ignored Jinx’s muttered “not bloody likely,” as she stepped out into the heavy rain.

* * *

Morning was approaching quickly and with the storm’s fury subsiding the sky lightened, even if the rain kept up a steady downpour. The crew began to emerge from below-decks, checking for damage but Myka and Jinx paid them little heed.

In a few steps she was at the Captain’s side where she was relieved to see the woman was still standing on her own.

“Captain?” Jinx queried.

Relief, however, soon gave way to exasperation. Wells might have been standing, but only just. Her hands, even in gloves, were clearly clenched around the wheel and her skin was so white she appeared more specter than flesh and blood.

“Captain, let me take the wheel,” Jinx offered.

Wells blinked and appeared to marshal herself. “I’m quite alright Mr. Jinx. See to the ship and crew and…”

“Enough, Wells,"  Myka interrupted, earning her a shocked glance from the first mate and what shouldhave been a withering glare from the woman still tied to the ship’s wheel. The bluish tint to Wells' lips and the very obvious shivering, however, severely undercut the normal power of that expression.

“I assure you, Commander, I know my own stamina.”

Myka snorted inelegantly. “Clearly you do not. Your first mate has your crew well in hand, your ship seems to have come through the storm just fine, and even if it hasn’t, I have seen just how able your people are. They can handle this, Wells. Now unclip yourself from that damn wheel or I’ll do it foryou.” Myka’s tone could have cut glass and herglare carried significantly more threat behind it.

For a moment it appeared that Wells might still resist, and Myka's expression softened. Placing her hand lightly on Wells' arm she tried a different tack. “Please,” she said softly. Nothing more, but it seemed to crumble the last of whatever stubborn pride Wells was clinging too. With an effort that made Myka cringe inwardly, she unclenched her hands from the wheel and fumbled with the clip at her belt.

“Oh here, let me,” Myka said, exasperated. Nimble, unfrozen fingers released the clip and Myka wrapped her arms around Wells, supporting the woman’s weight and moving back toward the cabin. She wasn’t truly thinking when she spoke.

“Fix our bearings, Mr. Jinx, and hold position here. Have Sarah see if she can send out some of her birds. We need to make sure we’re still on the trail of that frigate. And if you would, please send Dr. James to the Captain’s cabin.”

Concentrating on her charge, Myka missed the rather stunned look on the first mate’s face. It was gone in an instant, however, as Jinx recovered, smiled knowingly, and whistled for a crewman before setting about making sure things were in order.

* * *

Dr. James must have anticipated her Captain’s behavior, because when Myka shouldered the door open and half-carried Wells into her cabin, Katherine merely gestured to the chair by the bed and continued placing what looked like stones wrapped in cloth under the bed covers.

“There is a dry shift and socks there. Strip her quickly.”

Myka, intimately familiar with the dangers of their environment, did as she was bid, struggling with the thick oiled coat and batting at the Wells' weak, uncoordinated attempts to help. Fortunately, the oilskin had kept Wells largely dry, but as Myka helped her out of her sodden trousers and into thick wool socks, she could feel the other woman trembling violently. Wrestling a dry shift over Wells' head, Myka wrapped her arms around the shivering woman’s waist yet again and she and Dr. James helped her into bed.

Their task done, Katherine turned to Myka and paused, giving her a cautious look. Myka had a strong hunch what the physician was about to say and began to take off her own sodden coat. “I know. She needs body heat as well. I’ll stay with her.”

A swift flash of surprise flickered across Katherine's face, followed by relief. “It would make my job a great deal easier. I'll leave one of the midshipmen outside the door. If her condition changes, alert me instantly.”

Clad only in a long tunic now, Myka merely nodded and slipped quickly into the Captain’s bed. When she looked up, Dr. James was gone, the latch clicking softly behind her.

Outside the rain continued to fall, but it was gentle now, a soothing whisper against the glass. Under the covers, the stones Katherine placed at the foot of the bed gave off almost enough warmth to make Myka uncomfortable. At her side however, Wells'' skin was still far too pale and chilled and the woman was shaking. With a sigh that held more fondness than exasperation, Myka slid closer, gently pulling Wells against her own body. She was shocked, in doing so, at how small Wells seemed. Myka was so accustomed to seeing the Privateer striding about her ship or slouching carelessly behind her desk, pressing her attack during their sparring matches or simply moving. The woman was never still and she projected an effortless aura of being so much larger than life. To see her now, so utterly quiet and pale and delicate…it caused a most unfamiliar feeling in Myka’s breast. Settling back against the pillows and placing her hand on Wells’ chest, concentrating for a moment on the shallow if steady rise and fall, Myka struggled to discern what she was experiencing.

And then H.G. took a deeper, slightly labored breath, her shivering eased slightly, and Myka knew what she felt: _Tenderness._

“Oh bloody hell,” she whispered to no one in particular.

“Not…quite yet…darling.” Came the strained whisper and Myka looked down to see Wells fighting to open her eyes. “You needn’t….stay…you know.”

Closing her own eyes, Myka considered doing just that and leaving. After all, if the gradual relaxation of her body was any indication, Wells was likely out of the woods.

But Myka was warm, and comfortable, and the woman in her arms still shivered, and no matter how much she wanted to deny it, it felt right to hold Wells. So instead of replying, Myka merely snuggled deeper into the blankets, tugging them up around her charge. The crew would likely set watch and then take to their own beds after this. There was little danger of attack from the mainland as the storm had continued toward the continent and no matter that she knew well how dangerous her feelings might be, Myka was too tired to give a damn. She wanted to stay right where she was, H.G. Wells held close in her arms.

“Truly, Myka…I will be fine.” Wells managed.

Myka, eyes still closed, merely smirked. “I don’t take orders from pirates. Now be quiet, I’m trying to sleep.”

Under the covers, Wells moved her hand till it was resting atop Myka’s.

The gentle squeeze H.G. gave her fingers was the last thing Myka felt before letting sleep claim her.

* * *

It was oddly dark when Myka awoke to the sense of another presence in the room. She tensed, but the soft flare of a shielded lamp showed only Dr. James carefully moving about the room, having apparently drawn the heavy curtains across the cabin’s windows. Myka could discern cold grey sunlight at the edges of the fabric and guessed that it was likely sometime in the late morning. Seeing Myka awake Katherine smiled and tilted her chin at where Wells was still asleep in Myka’s arms. Looking down in the warm lantern light, Myka gazed at the sleeping woman’s face. Even her detractors would admit the Privateer was a striking individual, but here, her features softened by sleep, vulnerable and quiet… she was so beautiful the sight took Myka’s breath.

And she could _not_ feel that way.

Her internal turmoil was interrupted, thankfully, as Dr. James bent down and laid her slender fingers across Wells’ pulse, felt her forehead and listened to the sleeping woman breathe. After a moment she nodded, apparently satisfied.

“Tis late morning,” James spoke softly, confirming Myka’s guess. “The crew and ship are well enough. Watch has been set and the horizon is clear.”

“Thank you doctor.”

Pausing in the act of rising, Katherine seemed to consider for a moment. “I should thank you. The Captain is as careless with her own wellbeing as she is protective of ours. This would not have been the first time she pushed herself past the limits she refuses to admit she has. For that, know that we are grateful to you.”

And before Myka could make any sense of that, Katherine spun silently on her heel and left the room.

For a long moment Myka merely stared after her- and then very deliberately relaxed back into the pillows, shifted her sleeping companion’s head against her shoulder, closed her eyes, and sought oblivion.

* * *

The curtains had been parted slightly to reveal the deepening hues of mid-afternoon when Myka next blinked her eyes open. Struggling to focus, she was instantly aware of two things. The first was that Wells was no longer in her arms. The second was that Wells was now sprawled next to her, cheek propped on her fist, tousled black river of her hair spilling over her shoulder, watching Myka with an unreadable expression in her dark eyes.

“Now that is rather unsettling,” Myka murmured, stretching. She was trying very hard to pretend that her early morning realizations simply had not happened.

“And why would it be curious for me to watch a beautiful woman sleep after she so nobly kept me from harm?” H.G. replied archly.

Myka rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Wells. I’m merely glad you didn’t catch your death of cold.”

The Captain’s mouth quirked, and then her expression softened. “Really Commander, I do think we are well past the stage of formalities. Call me Helena.”

“ _Helena,"_ Myka tested the syllables. "It suits you,” she smiled gently, feeling the syllables on her lips and finding herself unable (and unwilling) to look away from the other woman’s eyes. Suddenly a thought occurred to her.

“If the H stands for Helena, what is the G for?”

Wells’ expression turned aggrieved. “You shall have to get me _very_ intoxicated before I will consent to answering _that_ question.”

Myka grinned impishly. “Challenge accepted.”

Wells – _Helena,_ Myka reminded herself – laughed richly before her expression softened once more.

“I owe you a debt of gratitude. As my good doctor has informed me in a most savage tone of voice, I am rather…careless with my health sometimes. I'm afraid my memories of last night are rather unclear, but I do remember you. Thank you, Myka.”

Myka had no response. She could not, for the life of her, look away from Helena’s face, her eyes…her lips. A kind of promise, a hint of possibility hung between them, as taut and fragile as a silken thread. Not even their breath disturbed it. The distance between them seemed somehow minute…and infinite.

And then Helena reached her hand forward, brushing her fingers over Myka’s where they tangled in the blanket and like the shattering of a delicate glass bauble, the moment was destroyed.

Panic crashed like a wave through Myka’s chest. “Oh well, it was nothing. Really. I mean I owe you for rescuing Claudia and I, and it would hardly be good manners to let the Captain of the ship take ill and I should probably let you get dressed and I need to check on Claudia.” Myka was babbling and she knew it, hated herself for it, and was as powerless to stop it as she was to stem the hot flush that colored her cheeks.

With uncharacteristic haste, she fled from the bed, gathered her now thankfully dry uniform and boots and all but ran out of the cabin.

Now alone in her bed, Helena sighed softly and fell back against the pillow. There was a part of her that supposed she should be rather indignant about the other woman’s hasty exit, but the look in Commander Bering’s eyes before Helena had touched her hand…

Wells stretched languidly and burrowed into the covers, an expression on her face that could only be called _wicked._ She would give the beautiful Commander a while to collect herself, and then H.G. Wells, former Warehouse Agent and scourge of the high seas was going to do what she did best: She was going hunting.


	6. Chapter 6

Wells' suspicion proved correct. Dressed in a clean white shirt under her favorite red vest and tan breeches with her katana slung over her shoulder and her hair hanging free (she may or may not have checked her reflection in the small hand mirror) she stepped out onto her deck that evening to find her crew busy and her guest nowhere in sight.

 _Very well. I can be patient._ Helena smiled and then turned her attention to her first mate. He threw her a salute and gave his report and for a while, the Captain’s mind was taken by her duties.

According to Sarah, her eagle friend relayed that the French frigate had made port just before the storm and was now back on open water, at full sail, heading along the coast of the mainland. In discussion with her smallest crewmember, Wells placed their quarry as just entering the waters off the coast of Portugal and looking to keep going around the continent.

“Can you send your friend out again Sarah? Or should we use the gulls?”

The slip of a girl considered for a moment, casting one gold eye to where a huge eagle had taken up residence on the rigging, sitting as calmly as if the man-made ‘tree’ had been placed there just for him.

“I’d rather a use t’gulls. That close to the coast, they’ll be everywhere. And he’s right unusual.”

Wells merely nodded, willingly deferring to the opinions of her crew where their expertise outstripped her own. And in Sarah’s case….well H.G. certainly wasn’t going to attempt to hold a conversation with a bird of prey whose talons were as long as her hand.

“The gulls it is. Make it so please.”

Sarah nodded and trotted off to her usual perch and the captain consulted one last time with Jinx. Then orders were shouted, sails came snapping down and the prow swung round to the south. Above her, the canvas filled and Helena’s ship, like a fit horse too long tethered, hesitated, gained momentum, and then suddenly, almost between one heartbeat and the next, they were flying before the wind. The _Time Machine_ would have to tack along the coast and there would be greater navigational challenges, but right now, at this moment, standing at the helm of her ship as they flew over the sparkling sea….Helena was free. This was _her_ world and she was utterly in command of it.

_And I can share this with Myka…_

As if summoned by Helena's thoughts, Commander Bering appeared on the forecastle alongside Claudia. It did not escape Wells’ notice that the other woman had donned her full Royal Naval regalia. Her brass and boots were shined to a fare-thee-well and her sword hung at her hip. Helena bit her lip to keep from smiling. Myka was running. Very well, Helena was a very patient hunter.

Elegant fingers resting atop the great ship’s wheel, she watched as her two guests moved to the prow of the ship. Helena was mildly surprised to realize that her crew – though always civil – now went out of their way to wave to or speak to Bering and not just her young friend.

“She's been welcomed,” Katherine’s soft statement came from just behind Wells. As used to her physician’s ability to walk silently as she was, it still gave Wells a momentary start and she turned to level a glare at her friend.

Katherine merely smirked, all too aware how much it irritated H.G. to be surprised. James wore a deep blue silk shirt with a high collar and intricate embroidery that she had once explained to Helena were cheap knock offs of traditional Japanese designs 'but I like the color' and Helena would be the first to admit it looked stunning on her.  It was the irritatingly knowingexpression she wore on her face, however, that made Helena scowl. That expression said the good doctor was well aware of the direction of her Captain’s thoughts.

“And why not?” Helena shot back. “She has none of the arrogance of most every other officer in His Majesty’s Navy. She’s given us good intelligence about the ship we’re chasing…”

“And she seems to be able to get through to you when none of us can,” Katherine offered dryly. She'd never had a problem speaking out of turn before, obviously today wasn't going to change that. Helena resisted the urge to roll her eyes like a child. Instead, attempting to preserve her dignity, she said nothing and turned to face forward again.

The silence between them was comfortable, though and Helena let it stretch. Whatever Katherine came to say was obviously more important that mere teasing. 

Her suspicions were confirmed by a gentle touch at her elbow. “Just, just be careful old friend.” Katherine's voice was unusually soft and Wells shot her a sharp look.

“What? You think she will break my heart? Don’t be ridiculous," Wells scoffed, or tried to. Even to her own ears her voice sounded unsteady. 

Katherine simply looked at her steadily. “No. But I am afraid you’ll break your own heart over her.”

And with those troubling words, Katherine left Helena alone at the helm.

Inhaling the comforting scent of the sea, Helena attempted to shake off the unease that had lodged in her breast at her friend’s caution. But her eyes kept returning to where Commander Bering now stood alone at the prow, wind tugging at her queue and ruffling the edges of her navy and white coat.

_Katherine has no idea what she’s talking about._

The problem was, Wells knew better.

But it was ridiculous. _I’m hardly falling in_ love _with her. I 'm merely intrigued and I have come to enjoy her company. The Commander is a remarkable woman. She is intelligent and bold, beautiful and kind. I simply want to show her what she can have_ away _from the Warehouse. She_ must _know that she will never be allowed to captain her own ship. ‘Tis remarkable enough the Warehouse allows women to serve. We’ve made such a good team on this hunt, I have every confidence in our ability to rescue Arthur and Pete and find out who is behind this…_

 _And then what?_ Wells was irritated that the voice in her head sounded like Katherine, somehow smug and gentle at once. Unfortunately, she could not deny that the question was valid.

Myka Bering was, by all accounts (the Privateer still maintained a few sources inside the Warehouse) the consummate Warehouse Agent. She was detailed, thorough and almost rigidly by the book. She was also remarkably successful and obsessively dedicated. And in understanding that, Helena had the answer to her own question. When this hunt was over, Myka Bering would return to the Warehouse. No matter that she might very well return Wells’ feelings, the Commander was not the type of woman to ever allow herself those feelings, and forcing her to acknowledge them, or worse, playing on them and then asking Myka to choose between Helena and her duty -

_She would choose the Warehouse without a moment’s hesitation. And even if she didn’t, i_ _f by some twist of fate she aligned her fortunes with my own… she would come to hate me._

And Helena knew without a single shred of doubt that whatevershe felt for Myka Bering, she could not bear to have the other woman despise her. And hard on the heel of those thoughts came further self-castigation.

_Be honest with yourself Wells, you are a pirate. Nothing more. Whatever the Warehouse may bar her from, ‘tis not society itself. She is not a wanted criminal in some countries, considered little better than scum in others. I would be asking her to be one of us – an outcast – with no true home but this ship._

The truth was far more bitter in her heart than Helena would have expected, but she didn't flinch from it.

“Oh damn you for being correct Katherine. I’d dash my heart on her for nothing,” Wells sighed.

Alone at the helm, she received no reply from the wind or the sea.

* * *

After that morning, things returned to – if not ‘normal’ (for there really was no such thing on the _Time Machine)_ – then at least a semblance of routine. The Captain and Commander were perfectly civil to each other, but beyond the most perfunctory of exchanges, avoided each other completely. Indeed, it was a rather remarkable display of stubbornness from two people who could, when so motivated, exert a ridiculous level of control over their own desires.

Myka moved her things into the female quarters and bunked next to Claudia. Helena took up residence in her cabin once again. The daily sparring matches vanished as if they had never been and the crew looked at each other in confusion and frustration.

Only Claudia – who knew Myka – and Katherine – who knew Helena – looked saddened. Both physician and midshipman, however, knew that it was not their place to interfere. And so the _Time Machine_ neared the coast of Portugal, and began to close on its quarry.

Two days after Myka ran from Helena’s touch, a yell from the crow’s nest roused the ship.

“Land ahoy!” Sarah yelled. And a moment later a huge white gull circled to land on the lip of the nest.

There was a moment of tense silence and then, “We’re gaining! They’re only a day ahead!”

A fierce cheer spread through the crew and at the helm, Helena felt herself grinning darkly.

The French may not have been the quarry she _truly_ desired, but it no longer mattered. The hunt was on.


	7. Chapter 7

The _Time Machine_ was a swift, agile ship for her size and Sarah reported that they were gaining on the frigate steadily. Somehow, the little crewman managed to coax an owl from Lord only knows where, and though it only consented to one flight, Sarah reported that their quarry did not alter course during the night.

The next day was the same, and with the sun came, at last, sight of their quarry on the horizon. The mood on the _Time Machine_ became hungry, the air charged. They were closing in steadily.

Too steadily.

Something wasn’t right, though for the life of her, Wells could not say why she felt this way. Standing at her desk, she stared at the chart of Portugal’s coast.

Nothing stood out to her as unusual. They were far enough out to sea to avoid the majority of trade ships and fishing vessels for their quarry seemed to desire more open waters. The coast itself didn't offer any places (that showed on the map at least) that might be used to hide, and they were nearly within eyesight anyway. It would have been child’s play to track the frigate should she try and evade at this point.

And yet that sense was still there – the one the Captain had learned well to listen to when she was still a Warehouse Agent.

“Damnit, what are you playing at?” she muttered.

The empty cabin had no answer for her.

Running a hand through her hair, Wells allowed herself a sigh, and suddenly realized part of what was bothering her.

She wanted to talk with Myka. The Commander had a keen mind and nearly as much experience in hunting Artifacts and the people who dealt in them as Wells herself. Her insight and knowledge had proven extremely helpful on more than one occasion already. If nothing else, she was a pleasant sounding board and good company.

“Enough, Helena. Enough.” Wells shook her head and forced away the subtle sting of loss. Those waters were too dangerous to try. It was done.

Outside, the sun sank toward the horizon and her crew changed watch.

In her cabin, Wells was no closer to assuaging that nagging sense of unease. All she could do was speak to Jinx and have the crew set an extra watch. Striding onto the deck, she found her second in command easily, sharing her thoughts such as they were.

“And douse the lamps. We’re far enough from shore. I want to run dark.”

Her first mate ate looked at her with a shrewd gaze. “You’ve got a feeling don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

Wells merely nodded. “This is much too easy. If they continue as they have, we shall overtake them tomorrow. After all this time, why make it so simple? And yet I cannot fathom their game. We aren’t being followed – at least that we can see – and we're too close for them to hide from us.”

Jinx considered for a moment and then shrugged. “I feel it too, but I have no more useful thoughts.” And then, so verycasually. “Have you spoken to Commander Bering about it?”

Wells shot Jinx a look that said very clearly she understood his true intent.

“I have not, nor has she spoken to me. Nor is there any need. Our mission is quite clear and I’m sure as soon as we are successful, the Commander and Ms. Donovan will be quite glad to be rid of us.” She was pleased she only sounded a little bitter.

“Captain…”

“Leave it Stephen. Please,” she said tiredly.

Jinx knew a dismissal when he heard one and saluted. “I'll take first watch, and we’ll double eyes on the horizon.”

Wells made a gesture of assent and returned to staring at her charts.

Jinx shot her one last troubled glance, then shook his head and left. Whatever ailed his Captain, it was beyond his ability to heal.

* * *

Assigning herself second watch, Helena retired to bed early, but was unable to truly rest. Her sleep was light and restless, and when the clanging of the ship’s bell signaled an attack, she leapt from her bed and grabbed her katana with what was almost a sense of relief. The waiting, it would seem, was over.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me, we’re going to go back a bit and get Myka caught up…

Myka Bering did not like to think of herself as a coward. She was well aware she had faults, but never in her life had she run from a fight.

And yet lying awake in her hammock, staring at the worn bulkhead of the _Time Machine,_ listening to Claudia’s gentle breathing next to her, Myka was forced to admit there was no other name for her actions.

 _This is utterly ridiculous,_ she thought savagely. _I barely know the woman. Her advances merely made me uncomfortable. That is all. I am simply not used to such forward behavior. Really, the nerve of her._

Around and around Myka’s thoughts swirled as she stubbornly ignored the tiny voice in her head (that oddly enough sounded like Pete) telling her for a liar. She had to ignore that voice. If she acknowledged that voice, she would have to acknowledge just how strongly she had felt the pull between herself and Helena, nearly from the moment she had stepped out onto the upper deck of the _Time Machine_ and seen the infamous Privateer standing at the helm, bathed in moonlight. No, that way led only to madness, for it lay in direct conflict with every duty and value Myka had been raised from birth to hold dear.

So instead, she told that voice to be silent, and embraced the rising (if manufactured) anger inside her.

By the time she drifted into a restless and uncomfortable sleep, Myka had nearly convinced herself that H.G. Wells had been trying to seduce her without her knowledge or consent.

Nearly.

* * *

The next day, Myka once again donned her Royal Uniform and ate with Claudia. Once finished breaking her fast however, Myka found herself at a loss. several times Claudia seemed on the verge of asking her friend what transpired between the herself and Wells, but whatever the young woman read on Myka’s face caused her to shut her mouth and turn away each time, leaving Myka alone soon after the meal. Claudia seemed to have truly found her place among Helena’s crew and on several occasions, Myka found her working on something with Jinx or one of the others, thick as thieves and clearly enjoying themselves thoroughly.

It made Myka lonely. Or rather, it made Myka realize she was lonely. On the _Artifact Hunter_ her duty had always been her primary companion, and when that was not enough, she had Pete, her dear friend and longtime Warehouse partner, or Claudia, or Leena, the ship’s doctor or any of the other Warehouse Agents on board.

 _Be honest Bering, you may have had other Agents around, but Pete and Claudia and Leena were your only true_ friends.

Here on the _Time Machine_ she had no real duty… _and you’ve pushed Helena away._

Standing at the prow of the ship, staring sightlessly off over the grey water, Myka allowed that silent admission. Whatever else she most certainly _did not feel_ for Captain Wells, the woman had been a pleasure to be around. When they weren’t discussing possible plans (or backup plans) for chasing the French, or speculating on just what sort of enemy or organization they were truly facing, the two women let their conversations range from Artifact hunts, to history, to personal interests, to politics, to pleasures, to their respective crews. For all her cynical front, Helena had a warm and generous personality buried under that insouciant expression and devilish charm.

_You had a friend. And you miss that._

“But that is all she must ever be,” Myka sighed to herself before straightening and tugging at her uniform.

Never before had the heavy fabric sat so ill on her shoulders.

* * *

Focused on notfocusing on the Captain, Myka kept her own feeling of disquiet about the ease of their chase to herself. She cheered along with the rest of the crew when the frigate was sighted and tried very hard to ignore the thrill that raced along her nerves at the sight of Helena’s wolfish grin. It wasn't petty pride or fear, however, which stilled her tongue. Had she thought Helena was truly oblivious to danger, she would have spoken up, but she often caught sight of the Privateer, standing at her desk, the tightness in the set of her shoulders telling Myka that Helena felt something was ‘off’ as well. Since she had nothing of use to give, however, Myka kept silent and tried not to think how much more pleasant waiting was when she had a sparring partner.

In the ed, they weren't forced to wait long.

* * *

The ship’s warning bell did not, technically speaking, wakeMyka. Waking implied one was asleep in the first place and at best, she'd been drifting on the edge of unconsciousness. Thus when the raucous clanging of the ship’s bell split the night, followed by cries of alarm, she was out of her hammock and into her boots within seconds.

Grabbing her sabre, Myka didn’t bother with her uniform jacket, instead reaching for a pistol from one of the hidden caches that the other female crewmembers were in the process of raiding. Shoving it into her belt, Myka came face to face with a wide-eyed Claudia.

“Mykes?”

“Keep your head down Midshipman,” and then Myka hugged her fiercely. “And be careful!”

Claudia grinned wickedly and then ran out the door after some of the other crew. “Says the woman who gets hurt more than I do!”

Shaking her head, Myka turned her attention away from thoughts of her friend and, buckling on her sabre, ran to the deck. She was joined by some others of the crew, while still more raced below decks to run out the _Time Machine’s_ cannons. Above her, the noise level rose and then…

Myka emerged into utter chaos, the night suddenly ablaze with torch and lantern light, and most of it didn't belong to Wells’ ship, the sight greeting Myka nearly a physical blow.

When she closed her eyes earlier that night, the _Time Machine_ was alone on the waters, only their quarry far ahead of them and land to port.

That was no longer the case.

A Spanish galleon drew within grappling range and a line of uniformed regulars was – Myka ducked as rifle fire shattered the air – shooting at them.

Around her, the crew of the _Time Machine_ scrambled to action and below decks and Myka heard a yell just as the ship’s guns sounded.

In that moment, Myka Bering realized several very important things. The first was that the galleon musthave had an Artifact in order to surprise the night watch so thoroughly. The second was that the _Time Machine_ was hopelessly outgunned. And the third was that for whatever reason, the galleon was not using its cannons.

_Which means they mean to take the ship, or the crew, or both._

It also meant that Wells’ crew had an advantage, one that the Captain seemed to have grasped quicker than Myka, as the ship’s guns roared again, accompanied by the sound of splintering wood and screams from the galleon.

Unfortunately, the galleon was a significantly larger ship and despite the efforts of the _Time Machine’s_ crew, she was managing to pull alongside.

Turning instinctively, Myka found Helena on the forecastle, shirt un-tucked with a katana in one hand and a pistol in the other, yelling to someone below her – Jinx, Myka presumed – but she could not hear the Wells' voice. In another moment, however, it ceased to matter.

With a sickening crunch the ships came together, boarding planks were dropped, and the battle was joined.

After that, Myka had only fleeting impressions of what was going on around her. Her focus narrowed so that her opponent came into razor sharp clarity, but everything else faded into the background. She stood with the rest of the _Time Machine’s_ crew and fired volleys into the first line of boarders, but the Spanish greatly outnumbered them, and used the time needed for reloading pistols and rifles to charge across to Wells’ ship.

The air was so thick with the sounds of battle, screaming, guns firing, cannons roaring, the clashing of blades. There was no room for thought, only action, and reaction.

Arrows began sprouting from men’s throats and eyes and Myka looked up to see several crew in the rigging with crossbows firing into the Spanish below them. They were forced to stop and defend attackers at their own level, however, when enemy soldiers began to swing from the galleon’s rigging to the _Time Machine’s._

At one point while she was engaging two burly swordsmen, Myka saw Claudia and Jinx rush past, carrying something that looked like a small wine keg with a fuse sticking out of it. Running one man through and going down on one knee in a move she had perfected thanks to Helena, Myka severed the other soldier’s leg, turning smoothly in time to see Claudia and Jinx gaining the rigging. They seemed to be waiting for something as Sarah, with wicked accuracy of a small recurved bow, stopped any of the Spanish from following them up.

Her suspicion was confirmed the next time one of the Spaniards swung across to try and gain the _Time Machine’s_ mast. He made it, only to be run through by Jinx while Claudia waved jauntily, then set about doing something with the rope. An instant later and the small keg went swinging back toward the galleon. Myka saw a tiny glow and a hint of smoke and…

_Oh she didn’t…._

But she did.

The rope reached the end of its arc and the keg reached the galleon just as the fuse ran out. The resulting fireball not only disintegrated the main mast of the galleon and set the rigging alight, but rained down what looked like liquid fire onto the crew below.

Myka’s yell of triumph was echoed by the crew around her,  but her triumph lasted only a heartbeat as a group of soldiers tried to reach the mast where Claudia and Jinx still sat. With a yell, Myka returned to the fray where there was no time for thought.

The next break in fighting that gave her a moment to breathe found Myka back to back with Dr. James, Katherine wielding two sais like extensions of her hand and moving so fluidly she barely seemed to be fighting - the fierce, wild grin on her face almost more terrifying than her weapons. Every time the silvery weapons flickered out from her hand however, bloody gashes sprouted like grotesque flowers on attacker’s bodies. Turning, Myka caught sight of a rifleman aiming at the doctor's unprotected back where she fought another opponent. The actual thought followed the action of taking a pistol from a dead enemy soldier, dropping to one knee, aiming and firing. The would-be attacker fell overboard into the sea and that was when Myka finally caught sight of Helena.

Unsurprisingly, Wells held the upper deck, back to back with a lean Egyptian man Myka only knew as Hawk. Wells wielded her katana with two hands and there was quite literally a ring of dead bodies around her. For one instant, Myka stood mesmerized as she watched the savage efficiency of Helena’s movements.

She was not given time to appreciate that deadly grace however, for at that moment, a fresh wave of men from the galleon swept over the few boarding planks the _Time Machine’s_ crew had not yet managed to destroy and Myka joined those who ran forward to engage them.

It was not long later that Myka found herself momentarily alone, her back to the main mast fighting three Spaniards. She was just gaining the upper hand against one when it happened. One of them closed with her, his breath foul against her face and his expression leering when suddenly he blinked, an expression of shock came over his features, and he jumped back.

“Es ella! Es la mujer!” he cried.

Myka felt the icy hand of fear grab her spine and suddenly she was facing more than three men. Her world narrowed to the end of her sword blade and she fought like a caged animal.

In the end, however, there were too many. One of them got past her guard and another came high. The last thing Myka saw was the butt of a rifle filling her vision.


	9. Chapter 9

Helena watched another soldier slide off the end of her katana, adding to the pile of bodies around her on the upper deck. Guard still up she looked around frantically. For this instant, however, she was alone. Behind her, Hawk finally managed to kick his opponent in the groin and then use the opening to nearly sever his neck. With a nod at Wells, the saturnine man went dashing to the foredeck just as Jinx appeared on the stairs, his red-headed shadow momentarily absent.

Panting, the first mate sketched a weary salute. “We can’t take much more of this, Captain,” Jinx said.

Helena nodded grimly. “Neither can they. They must be running out of men at this point.”

“Why are they pressing so hard?”

“I've no idea, but given that they clearly came for capture and not to simply destroy us….” She trailed off.

Jinx made the connection.

“This is about an Artifact.”

“I believe this is about much, much more than _one_ Artifact. But we have no time for that. The tide is turning, but we need more. Can Claudia make any more of those…whatever they were?” Helena was getting her wind back, one eye on the battle and one on the galleon.

Jinx nodded. “She went below to do just that.”

“Then go help her. We need to end this, and we need to win.”

Jinx’s response, however, was lost on his Captain. For at that moment, Helena heard a cry and looked up. High in the rigging Sarah was being throttled by a Spanish soldier.

Wells didn’t hesitate. No guns were at hand so she simply yanked loose a tether line from the railing and used it to swing from the upper deck to the rigging. Katana at her back, she swarmed up the ropes, but she was not as tiny and quick as Sarah and Helena's heart pounded in her throat with fear she might be too late.

The feel of the steel of her blade sliding through the attacker’s body brought a level of satisfaction that was likely unseemly. As Helena gently helped a gasping Sarah into the crow’s nest, she really didn’t give a damn.

“Sarah, darling…” she questioned, sliding her katana back into its sheath.

“M’ a’right Captain,” the girl coughed roughly and smiled weakly. “Just got me by surprise be all. Go, I’m fine."

“Are you sure?”

The tiny crewman straightened. “I said so, din’t I?”

Wells smiled and nodded. “That you did. Carry on then.” And turned away from where Sarah was reloading her bow.

Pausing in the rigging, Helena took in the fight. Just now starting to climb the second mast, Claudia and Jinx were apparently about to enact an encore to their earlier explosion. The Captain’s eyes followed Claudia's movements as she secured another keg, watching its arc with enormous satisfaction. The fireball erupted over the galleon, turning the air to flame and reflecting off the inky water, as if opening a portal to Hell itself. She made a mental note to ask the young midshipman whatexactly she had concocted to make that kind of explosion at some future date.

Below her, Helena’s crew fought brilliantly, in most cases back to back with several of their comrades, but the Captain didn't see….

Her eyes roving the tangled chaos of men and women and weapons, it was the cry of “it’s her!” in Spanish that drew Helena' gaze directly below her, where Myka was fighting too many soldiers.

Helena was moving before the realization even made it through her mind.

The Captain made it halfway down the mast before she chanced to look below her. Just in time to see the butt of a rifle connect with Myka’s temple, crumpling her like a rag doll to the deck.

After that, the next thing H.G. Wells knew, she was standing over an unconscious Command Bering, surrounded by the bodies of dead soldiers, several of whom no longer had their heads. The moments in between were utterly blank.

* * *

Claudia just finished celebrating the success of the second mini-bomb (her term) with Jinx when a sound of inhuman rage tore through the general cacophony of the fight. Jerking around, Claudia and Jinx watched in mingled horror and fascination as the Captain quite literally leapt off the rigging, falling several man-heights and tackling several soldiers who were standing over a downed Myka.

Heart in her throat and mouth hanging open, Claudia could only stare as Helena’s katana came singing out of its scabbard and the woman lit into the men surrounding Myka. Between their shock and Wells' rage, it was truly more of a slaughter than a fight and she heard Jinx gasp as one, two, three, four, five, six enemy soldiers fell; two of them removed of their heads completely. 

Blood dripping from the curve of her blade, Helena stood motionless for a moment, her whole body rigid as if waiting for another opponent. Finally, something seemed to snap her out of her state and she shook herself, dropping to her knees to press her fingers to Myka’s neck. Claudia could only stare hopelessly for what seemed like an eternity until Wells’ whole body relaxed slightly and she looked up, her face showing its relief.

Slowly letting go of the breath she had been holding, Claudia turned to stare at Jinx. She was quite sure that they wore matching stunned expressions.

* * *

After Helena’s attack, the remaining Spaniards began to surrender. One by one at first and then in greater numbers they threw down their weapons. Between the crew of the _Time Machine’s_ clearly unexpected ferocity, Claudia’s little surprises and the Captain’s homicidal rage, the Spanish dead littered both ships like cord wood. The crew of the _Time Machine_ suffered no losses yet, but many of Wells’ people had been hauled below decks badly injured. Though the doctor worked ceaselessly, the outlook for several was grim.

Bit by bit, Wells’ crew organized themselves and their prisoners. The Spanish dead they merely dumped over the side of the ship, silencing protests with fists. They were too angry to feel any charity to their attackers. Helena in particular had a fey look in her eyes that sent the captured officers to cowering.

Clean up and medical crews were detailed among the able bodied. The remaining Spaniards were locked away below decks on their own ship, and Helena ordered the galleon searched from top to bottom.

“I want to know how they managed to take us by surprise,” she snarled at Jinx. The first mate merely nodded and turned to yell orders, Claudia a red-haired shadow behind him. Before she could follow, however, Helena laid a hand on the young woman’s shoulders.

Her heart in her throat, Claudia turned, only to see the Captain’s expression gentle.

“I and my crew owe you a great deal Ms. Donovan. Those ingenious devices of yours likely saved the day.”

Stunned, Claudia blinked and then her face split in a huge grin. “Well since you totally saved Myka’s skin, we can call it even,” and with a wink, she was off after Jinx, leaving the Captain to smile briefly and shake her head.

Dawn was fast approaching when the last of the enemy dead was cleared from the decks and the _Time Machine_ was declared sea-worthy, if in need of repair to sails, rigging and some of her railings. The galleon was likewise sea-worthy, but thanks to Claudia, only just. She had only one mast that remained whole and great chunks burned from her upper deck.

“But she’ll sail Captain,” one of her engineers reported.

Wells nodded. “Good.” She turned to Jinx. “Make her ready. We’re headed for port. We need to regroup, resupply and figure out our next move. And we need to do something about _that,”_ she gestured to the galleon.

“What are you thinking Captain?”

“Not what Mr. Jinx… _whom.”_ And a crafty expression stole over the Privateer’s face. “We make for Olhão.”

“Not…”

“Oh yes, we’re going to see my dear friend Señor Alfonso.” Helena chuckled darkly.

Jinx merely gave an aggrieved sigh. “You know the last time we had dealings with him…”

“Oh I’m sure he’s forgotten that by now. Besides, he will have information,” her expression turned deadly once more. “And we must know what we are up against, Steven. There's a game being played here and I've no intention of being a pawn any longer. We searched that ship stem to stern and not only could no one find anything that might be an Artifact, but the Captain had vanished with the ship’s log.”

“You think he went overboard with it?”

“I do. All the rowboats were accounted for. In this water? This far from shore? No one could survive that swim. Which means someone was willing to die to keep a secret. I doubt we’ll get anything useful from the crew either.”

Looking at the anger sparking in his Captain’s eyes, Jinx found himself in agreement with her conclusions. Since there was nothing he could do about it at the moment, however, he turned their conversation to immediate matters. “I will make sure the crew rotates through a rest and gets something to eat. I suggest you do the same.”

Helena touched the young man on the shoulder and smiled wearily. “Thank you my friend, but I must see to the wounded first.”

She turned to leave then, and thus didn’t see the grin tug at her first mate’s face.

“Just so long as it’s one in particular, Claudia is going to be _thrilled,”_ he said to himself.

* * *

Below decks it was quieter than one might have thought. Katherine had been working tirelessly and those crew with minor wounds already had their injuries cleaned, stitched or bandaged by those of their fellows skilled in minor medical treatments.

Helena stopped to speak with each of the wounded. Many suffered gashes, a few were shot and there were some broken limbs and a missing finger. They were tired, and in pain, but well cared for, all of them quietly celebrating the defeat of the galleon. For now, Helena put aside her unease and the questions that the missing Spanish captain presented and gave them her unstinting regard. They had all earned it. More than earned it.

Not all were so lucky however. Four of her crew lay near death and finally, Wells walked softly to where they were sleeping. Unsurprisingly, she found Katherine in tired attendance.

James looked up at Helena’s tread and smiled wearily. It told the Captain what she needed to know: her friend was hopeful.

“I praise the day you stole those bandages,” Katherine said softly.

Helena merely quirked her lips and reached over to a sideboard, pouring a cup of fresh water and handing it to the other woman. Katherine took it gratefully, gulping it down with no regard to manners. “Ben's lost an eye, but he’ll still be too handsome for his own good with a patch. Sorento will likely have a limp all her days, but I think she’ll the keep the leg. Foster and Wolcott…” James trailed off and sighed. “I believe they will recover, but they took deep wounds to the chest, and in Wolly’s case, the shoulder joint. They may be through for this life.”

Wells let her eyes close as the familiar ache of sadness and guilt swept through her. She hatedto lose people.

A soft touch at her arm brought her focus back to her old friend. “Don’t, Helena. We all know the risks. And ‘tis hardly as if you’re leaving them marooned somewhere. Any of us could quit this life and live comfortably tomorrow. We stay because we want to, and that is a gift none of us would have if it weren’t for you – the chance to choose. Don’t belittle their sacrifice by making it your fault. _”_

The Captain shook her head and ran a hand through her tangled hair. “How is it you always know just what to say to me, old friend?”

Katherine's eyebrow climbed toward her hairline, pulling a tired chuckle from Helena.

Turning back to one of her patients, Katherine fiddled with a bandage and then spoke casually. “I placed Commander Bering in your quarters again. Her head wound did not seem severe, but she's likely to wake disoriented and confused. It would be helpful if someone would watch her so that she doesn't do unthinking injury to herself.”

For a long moment, Helena just stared at her friend and then snorted. “If I didn’t know better I would say this is a plot. What happened to ‘be careful’?” Wells bit her lip, hating the harshness of her voice.

As usual, however, Katherine remained unruffled by Helena's mercurial temper. “That was before I heard that you dove from the rigging and single-handedly slaughtered six men to protect her,” James looked at Wells evenly. “It appears, Captain that you may already be past the point of caution.”

“And if I am?”

Katherine smiled, wry and familiar. “You yourself taught me that we have but a short time on this earth. Do we always choose the safe path and hide away from aught that might cause us pain? Or are we Icarus, to dare the fall and gain flight, even if it is only for a moment?”

Helena blinked, then shook her head. “You would use my own words against me?”

James’ grinned, unrepentant. “They were apt then, why not now?” Upon seeing her friend’s hesitance, Katherine reached out and took Helena’s hand. “Don't try to make tomorrow come faster than it will. Right now, she needs a friendly face to be the first thing she sets eyes on. After that….the future is only set once it is behind us.”

In the end, it came down to weariness. Helena was exhausted. She had no more strength to fight the very real desire to simply seeMyka and assure herself the Commander was well. So with a gentle squeeze of Katherine’s hand and the doctor’s assurance that she would get some rest herself, Wells made her way to her quarters.

James' parting shot, “And make sure you eat something!” followed her. 

Helena ignored it. 

* * *

A lantern  hung from a hook on the wall, providing soft golden light when Helena opened her cabin door. Outside, the sky was beginning to fade to grey, so she turned the wick down and closed the curtains in case Myka’s eyes found the light painful. Then Helena quietly pulled the chair close to the bed and eased out of her bandolier, placing her katana against the chair and finally dropping her weary body into the chair, allowing herself look at the woman sleeping in her bed.

Myka still wore the clothes she fought in though her face had been cleaned. A bandage covered the wound on her temple, and though Katherine had assured her it was mostly bruising, that sickly white strip of cloth against Myka’s skin filled Wells with rage so strong her knuckles turned white on the arms of the chair. The anger died nearly as quickly as it rose though, she was simply too tired to sustain it.

Leaning forward, Helena gave in to the desire that had haunted her from the moment she witnessed Myka’s attack. Ever so carefully she reached out and stroked the sleeping woman’s uninjured temple, her fingers combing through soft brown hair before slipping down to rest against the pulse point in Myka's neck. It was only then, with the sure, strong proof that Myka’s heart still beat under her fingertips that Helena finally felt herself relax. Not totally – that wouldn't happen until the sleeping woman opened her eyes – but she was able to shed the last of the anger and adrenaline of the fight. Her body informed her that she would pay for her actions tomorrow, but as Katherine had so truly spoken…that was tomorrow.

Tonight, or rather this morning, Helena gave in to the exhaustion nipping at her heels. Her ship and crew were as safe as they could be, and while there was always the possibility of another Artifact attack, well, if it came, it came. Until then, Wells lay her head next to Myka’s shoulder and slipped her hand into the sleeping woman’s, quickly falling into oblivion herself.

* * *

Helena was startled out of a dreamless sleep by a tug on her hand. Struggling to throw off the last remnants of sleep, she sat up abruptly. The sun was pouring through the partially opened curtains, lending Myka’s pale skin some much needed warmth, though the sight of the bandage still pained Wells.

The tiny movement came again and Helena squeezed the hand she was holding. “Myka wake up,” she coaxed softly. It quickly became clear that the injured woman was struggling to do just that, and Helena was grateful to Katherine’s suggestion that she not be alone as the Commander began to toss and turn.

“Myka, come my dear, wake up…Myka… _Myka!”_ Wells called in alarm as the woman gave a short cry and her eyes flew open.

For a moment there was no sense in the hazel irises and Helena had to restrain Mayka from trying to move, lest she do real damage to her still healing body.

“Myka stop, stop, it’s alright darling you’re safe, you’re safe…” Helena repeated the words until with a last shudder the body under her hands went limp.

“Helena? What…? What happened?”

Giving a silent prayer of thanks that seemed to be over, Wells eased her grip on the injured woman’s shoulders. “You were hit over the head during the skirmish. I’m afraid you were out cold.”

Helena could practically see the wheels in Myka’s head turning.

“The galleon, the crew, _Claudia?”_

“All presented and accounted for. Your Ms. Donovan very nearly saved us, and while we took some damage, both ship and crew are largely sea-worthy. The galleon is ours and we are headed to port to regroup.”

As she spoke, Helena absently stroked her fingers through Myka’s hair once again.

For a long moment, neither woman spoke, the silence stretching between them, heavy, but not uncomfortable. It took far too long for Helena to realize what she was doing and with an inward sigh, she steeled herself and sat back, snapping the tension that now seemed to spring up between them whenever they were close.

“I should go and check on matters. Rest darling. You’re going to need your wits about you soon enough.”

Helena stood, slinging her sword over her shoulder and walking rather stiffly to the door. Sleeping in the chair had been a ridiculous idea, she ached everywhere. The shallow cuts she pretended she didn't have and the bruises she had been ignoring now decided to make themselves known. All at once. Still, she was at least standing.

Helena's hand was reaching for the latch when Myka’s voice stopped her.

“Helena, when you’re done…would you come back?” the tone was soft, hesitant even.

It made Helena’s heart soar.

“It would be my pleasure,” she smiled back at Myka, slipping out the door.

* * *

When she returned several hours later after seeing to the status of both ships and finally getting her wounds treated, Myka was asleep again. A much more rested Dr. James had been to see her, however, and reported her condition as satisfactory.

“All she needs now is sleep. And I could say the same for you.” James said pointedly, glaring at Wells who was doing her best not to limp.

The Captain merely chuckled. “I plan on getting it. We’re making berth in a cove I know just south from Olhão. I don’t want Alfonso to know we’re coming. Until then, Mr. Jinx and Ms. Donovan seem to be running my ship quite handily without me,” she said with a shake of her head.

Katherine merely chuckled in agreement, apparently satisfied her Captain wasn't going to do anything rash and returned to her patients. Helena slipped back to her cabin. The sun was sinking toward the horizon and Helena’s body was informing her that she was nearing the end of her rope. Removing her katana, she slipped off her boots and finally changed from her blood spattered clothes into a clean shift. She was about to take a spare blanket and settle into her chair when her name being spoken stopped her.

“Helena G. Wells, if you are thinking about doing something ridiculous and self-sacrificing like sleeping in that chair, don’t.”

Wells grinned ruefully. “I was merely being considerate.”

“Don’t be an ass, Helena. Come here.” And with that, Myka scooted over and indicated her side. “I got hit in the head and I’m sore and out of sorts but I am not dying and I won’t break.”

“Well, I certainly cannot argue with that logic.”

“You never could,” Myka grinned wickedly for a moment before wincing and settling back down.

Tossing the blanket over the bed, Helena did as she was bid, easing in beside Myka. For a long moment both women lay tensely, as if afraid now to move, and then Myka sighed. Rolling over, she pressed her body against Helena’s, resting her head on a slim shoulder and throwing her arm across Helena’s middle.

For one instant, Wells froze, and then she remembered Katherine’s words. _Ah well, if I am to be damned to Hell, I might as well enjoy the journey,_ she sighed inwardly, letting go of any last though of resistance. Moving gently, she wrapped her arms around Myka and pulled the other woman closer, pressing a soft kiss to tousled hair.

“I am so very glad you’re safe Myka,” she whispered.

Her answer was Myka’s arm tightening around her. “And I am glad that you were there, once again, to rescue me, Captain Wells," Myka replied teasingly. Helena could hear a note of true gratitude under the playful words though and threaded her fingers in Myka's hair, stroking the back of her neck. For a moment Helena wondered who told Myka that particular bit of information, then decided it didn’t matter.

“As often as need be darling. As often as need be.”

Outside the sky darkened and the _Time Machine_ neared her berth, while in the Captain’s cabin, two women found their own safe harbor, at least for a moment, in each other’s arms.


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning proved to be a much less awkward affair than the last time Helena and Myka woke in each other’s arms. The Captain did not push, and the Commander did not flee. But there was a restraint in the way they moved around each other and their gazes were guarded. If they could no longer deny that there was _something_ between them, both women seemed to have reached the conclusion that whatever it was needed to remain unexplored.

Since they had significantly more pressing matters to attend to, such avoidance came easily.

* * *

Washed, dressed in clean clothes, with her sword cared for and once again at her back, Helena felt much more herself. She noticed that Myka too, availed herself of a bath and some clean clothes and currently wore one of Katherine's jewel-toned silk shirts, this one in deep forest green. It brought out the emerald flecks in her eyes; eyes that flicked across the table to meet Helena’s before hastily falling away.

Wells mentally kicked herself and refocused on what her first mate was saying.

“We’re farther down the coast than I would like if we plan to use the row boat to sneak into the harbor. Suggestions, Captain?”

Helena, Myka, Jinx, Claudia, Katherine and Hawk, Wells’ nominal Master of Arms, stood around the Captain’s desk. All eyes turned to Wells as she considered.

“I would like the element of surprise. It is my hope that we can use the cover of darkness. Anchor _here,”_ she pointed to a spot just outside of Olhão’s harbor. “And enter the harbor at night. I can go cloaked, and Mr. Jinx may lead the mission. I believe Alfonso will be reasonable. Eventually,” she conceded wryly in response to Jinx’ pointed cough.

“How many would you take?” Hawk spoke, a slight accent lending his words a soft elegance.

Wells shrugged one shoulder. “No more than necessary. Myself, Mr. Jinx.”

“You’re not leaving me behind,” Myka interrupted dryly.

“Very well, the Commander shall accompany us also. But _not_ you Ms. Donovan.” Helena smiled gently to take the sting out of her words. She then had to duck her head to hide her smile as her Jinx bumped the young woman with his shoulder and gave her an encouraging smile. She heartily approved of that friendship.

“Any other questions? Good. Hawk, I leave the choosing of the guard to you. Have them be ready at midnight. Alfonso barely gets out of bed before then anyway,” she muttered.

* * *

So it was that under the weak light of a crescent moon, running dark with Sarah’s keen eyes keeping watch in the prow, the _Time Machine_ ghosted out of her temporary home and sailed north. She was followed silently by the Spanish galleon under a skeleton crew of Wells’ people. Fortunately, the remaining crew of the galleon had given them no trouble.

_And hopefully, we will be rid of them tonight._

It didn’t take long for the lights of Olhão’s harbor to come into view. It was a small but lively port, used mostly by fishing vessels or as a trade stop for ships coming from the north before heading toward the North African coast.

“Hold here,” Helena said to Jinx, who passed the signal. Above the Captain, the sails began to move as if by invisible hands. It was so dark she could see the canvas, but not her crew lashing it up. The sea-anchor was lowered much more carefully than usual and by means of shielding and un-shielding one side of a special lantern, the crew was able to communicate with those on the galleon silently. A pattern of flickers returned, signaling those on the other ship had also raised sail and were holding steady. In the fey moonlight, Wells could only just make out the other ship – a larger hulking shadow barely outlined against the endless night.

Throwing a black cloak over her shoulders, Wells handed the wheel off to her helmsman and strode to where crew members lowered one of the long boats. She waited as four of her people – she marked faces and silently approved of Hawk’s choices – slithered down into the boat and took up the oars. Jinx followed, then Myka and then Helena herself dropped lightly aboard and they cast off, turning away from the _Time Machine._ The oars dipped once, twice, the crew found a rhythm and then they were moving steadily toward the light and noise of Olhão.

* * *

Myka wasn't quite sure what to expect from the port. The _Artifact Hunter_ had never been called to Portugal and Myka's knowledge of the coast drew solely from maps. Fortunately for their purposes, little navigation was needed. The sea was calm that night and Helena’s crew at the oars were efficient and it took little time to cross from the inky black of open waters and pass the sheltering breakwater into the harbor proper.

The first thing Myka noted was how crowded the docks were, every berth filled with vessels of all shapes and sizes, configurations and states of repair. Most of them had crew about and a great many were – even at this time of night – loading or unloading cargo. It was also _loud_. After the quiet aboard the _Time Machine,_ the sounds of a busy working dock were strange and foreign to Myka’s ears. Still, it didn’t take long to adjust and she began to discern individual voices, the sound of hooves on pavement, music and laughter from some of the wharf-side taverns, the creak of pulleys and the sound of the waves lapping at hulls and stone pillars.

Among the general hustle and bustle, it was easy to slip the rowboat up to an empty ledge for the crew to jump onto the wharf. Helena had her cloak up, but she took the lead, gesturing for two of the crew to stay with the boat. Those assigned moved to some stacked barrels and lounged deceptively, pretending to dice idly while keeping watch along the docks.

The rest of the group, hands never straying far from their weapons, strolled as casually as possible past the edge of the docks proper and headed inland toward the town. With the number of sailors and dock workers about, they blended easily. The streets were brightly lit and everywhere people were about; shopping, trading, walking (or lurching) in and out of taverns or brothels. Helena’s crew walked a little ways apart, trying not to appear as if they were actually together while keeping one eye on their surroundings and one on their Captain, who was subtly leading them through the cobbled streets.

It seemed to take forever and yet no time at all for Wells to make a subtle gesture and then duck into an alley across the street from a large tavern.

A brightly painted sign above the open door showed a knife and a purse and warm light spilled from the windows into the balmy summer night. Snatches of laughter and song and shouts could be heard coming from within – the noise suddenly growing louder, then dimming as someone opened the door and entered.

Gathering them close, Helena nodded to the second story. “He’ll be up there. I won’t bet he doesn’t have watchers placed, but I doubt he’ll be paying too much attention to the rooftops. That’s supposed to be his domain, and if there is one weakness that Alfonso has, it’s the arrogance to think no one will challenge him at his own game.”

“That’s because he usually wins,” Jinx muttered.

Helena just shrugged, her grin in the dim light far too delighted for the situation. “I never suggested there wasn’t risk involved. I say we start there,” she pointed to a house two buildings over from the tavern. “Just follow me.” Without another word, she turned and walked further into the dark alley. A few twists and turns, a street crossing and they were behind the house Helena had marked, facing a tall garden wall.

“Right then, quietly now,” Wells hissed, proceeding to haul herself up on the wall and from there to a window ledge that she used to hoist herself up to the gently sloping roof.

The only thing Myka could say about the events that followed was that they didn’t last long. The closeness of the buildings made it possible to use the rooftops, but certainly not enjoyable. It also appeared that Wells was right and Alfonso hadposted watchers, but a solid tap to the back of the head by Jinx’s sword hilt laid the two young men out easily for a nice nap.

Myka concentrated so closely on where she put her feet it was almost a surprise to see Jinx in front of her, leaning out of an upper story window and gesturing for her to take his hand. One last awkward reach and then she was standing in the hallway of what Myka could only assume was the tavern.

Helena motioned them to silence and together, the group crept down the hallway. They came to a small landing and the Captain pressed herself against the wall, squatting down almost to floor level and then peering just around the corner. An instant later, she jerked back. Shaking her head, Wells motioned to Jinx and held up one finger. The first mate nodded and crept back down the hall, disappearing around a corner.

A moment later, Myka heard the window open and then close loudly.

It had the effect Helena apparently wanted. The sound of boots moving down the hallway reached Myka’s ears and then the guard that must have been at the door on the landing came round the corner and met Helena’s blade at his throat. His eyes widened in surprise and he opened his mouth but it was too late. The hilt of Myka’s rapier connected sharply with his temple and the man crumpled almost gracefully to the ground.

Eyes glittering beneath the hood, Helena smiled and Myka found herself returning the grin widely. Her blood thundered in her ears and every single nerve in her body felt alive _._ This is what she lived for, this hunt, this game.

They had no time to savor the momentary victory however, Helena was off, slipping down the hallway, the rest of them at her back and Wells didn’t even pause when she reached her destination, merely took a long step and slammed her boot into the door.

It came splintering off its hinges.

The group burst into what looked like nothing so much as an accountant’s office. A wide oak desk well lit with lamps dominated the space. The walls were lined with bookshelves and several comfortable, worn leather chairs took up residence on what looked like an oriental rug.

Behind the desk, his shock fading quickly to anger, sat a handsome, lean man, with thick, curly black hair and an overly trimmed mustache that seemed designed to show off his admittedly attractive cheebones and lips. His black doublet and hose were velvet and silver studs glimmered in his ears. The entire effect was obviously intended to be attractive to the fairer sex but Myka found herself extremely unimpressed. Only the glittering threat in his dark eyes suggested this was not a man to underestimate. 

Striding to the front of the room, Helena stopped. “Hello darling,” Wells said primly, voice supremely amused as she threw back her cloak hood and revealed a cocked pistol.

The man behind the desk twitched.

“Tsk, tsk Alfonso. Put down whatever nasty little surprise you have under that desk and let us be civil. We’re here to make you a trade that will more than make up for…past disagreements.”

“Past disagreements? You _shot_ me!” the Spaniard retorted, his body still frozen in a half crouch.

“Yes and if you will recall I gave you fair warning that that would indeed be the outcome if you didn't surrender the item in question. Now are we going to bicker about this like children, or would you like to hear how you can have your very own Spanish galleon, complete with what is left of her crew that you may ransom or do with what you please.”

Thatcertainly got his attention.

His shrewd gaze narrowing, Alfonso considered for a moment, and then eased back in his chair, raising his hands slowly to show they were empty. “Perhaps I have been hasty _._ This is, as you say, business.”

“Well and so.” Wells nodded, her eyes never leaving the man’s face.

“Well then if this is business, please, sit.”

No one sat.

Alfonso raised one eyebrow and laughed warmly. “Ah Wells, I've missed our exchanges. So, we neither one of us trusts the other. That is as it should be perhaps. Very well, what do you want?” he asked, all trace of humor and mocking vanishing utterly from his voice. 

Helena hesitated for a moment before apparently coming to a decision. Uncocking her pistol, she thrust it through her belt.

“I need information Alfonso. I am looking for two officers from the King’s Navy. They were abducted from the wreckage of their ship which was destroyed by a French frigate. I have been chasing that frigate for months. Now it vanishes, and we wake in the middle of the night to find a Spanish galleon off our port quarter with no warning. _Someone_ knows something, and you know all the someones. Your thieves are everywhere and your people hear everything. Right now, I need to know what you know.”

Wells' dark eyes burned like coals in the warm light of the office as she and Alfonso stared at each other, apparently heedless that anyone else existed in the room anymore. 

Then the man behind the desk grinned and his eyes flicked to Myka. “So, you deal with the Royal Navy. This is new Wells.”

Myka’s shock must have shown on her face. Helena bristled. Alfonso merely waved them down.

“Relax. I have no intention of revealing your whereabouts, Lieutenant-Commander.” His accent was slight, but it gave his words a musical cadence that did nothing to offset the icy trickle of fear down Myka’s spine.

“What the helldo you know Alfonso?” Helena gritted.

Now it was the thief’s turn to blanch slightly. Apparently he'd heard that tone before.

“I know that someone is looking for the missing officer from the _HMS Artifact Hunter_. I also know they are offering a rather shocking amount of money.”

Helena’s hand twitched toward her pistol and Alfonso made a placating gesture.

“I also know I won’t be collecting that particular reward. You see, unfortunately for them, my intelligence has led me to believe that this is the same source that is killing our people in Venice.”

Myka blinked, suddenly not following the conversation. Throwing a glance at Helena and Jinx however, she appeared to be the only one. The captain and Jinx looked like hounds with a scent.

“Your people, you mean…” Helena queried.

Alfonso nodded grimly. “Thieves, beggars, even the minstrels. _All_ of the Rogue. It started slowly. At first we didn’t even notice. While hardly as savage as the constabulary makes us out to be, we can occasionally be rather ruthless when it comes to turf wars. The Duchy in Venice was recently under contention. We thought it merely more of the same.”

Jinx must have noticed Myka’s confusion because he gestured to Alfonso, whispering in her ear. “Alfonso is what you might call a Duke of thieves. They have their own laws and treaties and society that are solely their own. Each country on the continent has a King of the guilds and men and women like Alfonso oversee all the Rogue in a certain territory. They have their own system of taxation and information gathering as well.”

Impressed despite herself, Myka nodded her thanks and turned back to what Alfonso was saying.

“…left in alleys, dumped in canals. Like vermin. It was as if someone was sending a message. Whatever it was, they have, in effect, created a blackout in the city. Those Rogue that survived got wise and cleared out. As of now, our networks have no hold in Venice.” The thief’s expression grew savage. “We lost dozens, maybe hundreds. We can’t even be sure. Do not take it lightly when I say I will do what I can to aid you Wells. Whatever is going on in that city, it is not natural and the Court cannot abide it.”

Whatever Helena read in the thief’s eyes, she seemed satisfied because her shoulders relaxed and she settled her hands on her hips.

“So, we have no intelligence after all and every indication that a superior force is waiting for us. I have no doubt that damned frigate has reached port, which means they know we are after them. The only possible advantage I see at this point is that it is highly likely they believe us destroyed by the galleon.”

Alfonso nodded, his mind clearly working apace with Helena's. “Don't worry about the crew. My people will make sure that it takes quite a while for them to be ransomed. And I’m quite sure we find a use for that galleon. It won’t trace back to you. ” 

Helena made a dismissive gesture. “As long as they can’t pass on information, I care not. My concern now is getting to Venice.”

Alfonso looked surprised. “You still mean to go? You know as soon as you take to open water it's likely you'll be spotted.”

Helena shrugged elegantly. “Of course we’re still going. The matter is how. I’m afraid the Señor is correct. The _Time Machine_ is well known.” She was looking at Jinx and Myka now, frustration clear on her features, when a chuckle interrupted them.

“So make it _un_ -known.” Alfonso was smiling as if at a private joke.

“Excuse me?” Wells asked archly.

“My darling Helena, your ship is only distinctive because you have made it so. It is hardly of special design. The solution is simple. Make it look like another ship.”

Myka watched as the thoughts chased themselves across Helena’s face, her expression finally settling on distaste.

Alfonso let out a deep laugh. “Yes Wells, you’re going to have to get your ship dirty. And change the name, and oh! One of those dreadful figureheads you hate so much. Patch the sails, run up a different flag, a coat of paint…and just like that,” he snapped his fingers. “The _Time Machine,_ infamous ship of the dreaded Privateer H.G. Wells is no more. It should be enough to fool anyone not intimately familiar with your crew, and that should get you to Venice.”

The thought clearly left an unpleasant taste in Helena’s mouth, but she turned to Myka, who shrugged subtly, had neither better nor crazier ideas.

“Very well. I don’t suppose you want to lend a hand or two.”

Alfonso nodded, his expression calculating once more. “It should be done at night. We can bring the galleon to port as well. The docks will quiet soon. Before dawn is our best window. Then presto, the new ship can simply sail away with the morning tide with no one the wiser. I will bind my people by their oath. Do we have a deal?”

He reached a long fingered hand forward and Helena clasped it. “We do. We’ll be back tomorrow night. Don’t make me regret this, Alfonso.” Her words were harsh, but the Captain’s lips twitched.

Alfonso's reply was a wicked, distinctly bloodthirsty grin. “You won’t. Just see to it you destroy whoever is behind this, Wells.”

Wells' expression nearly matched Alfonso’s.


	11. Chapter 11

Whatever misgivings Myka (and likely Helena) had regarding working with thieves, she had to admit, they were quite good at what they did. Even if what they did was to render the _Time Machine_ nearly unrecognizable.

The sun rose that morning on a merchant ship out of southern France carrying the rather insipid name _Starry Night._ The sails were now a patchwork of different colors and consistency of canvas, they flew the French flag, and there was, indeed, a horrid figurehead of a ridiculously busty mermaid now attached to the prow. Barrels of brandy and bales of straw and wool crowded the once pristine deck. All in all, it was a rather horrifying sight.

Myka would own, however, that it was highly unlikely anyone would recognize the ship. When she saw Helena's disgusted glare in the direction of the figurehead on more than one occasion, she just touched Helena's shoulder and reminded her that the offense being visited on her ship was for a larger purpose.  It didn’t seem to make much difference.

Thus it was that the _Starry Night,_ carrying raw wool and brandy, sailed out of Olhão harbor on its way to Venice.

* * *

The journey _from_ Olhão seemed to take far longer than the journey to the Portuguese port and with each day, Myka found herself worrying more for Pete and Artie and becoming less certain of what they would find at the end of their voyage. Despite her discussions with Helena, Myka hadn't counted on the sheer viciousness of their potential enemy, nor the extent of their apparent superiority. With Alfonso’s revelations, however, the level of ruthlessness this person or organization was apparently willing to sink to chilled the officer deeply.

She began to brood so much that Helena started once again challenging her to duels just to keep her occupied.

Neither woman, however, truly had their heart in it. The physical exertion was welcome, but they were still very busy being careful with each other, and the bouts lacked much of their previous ferocity. So much so that the crew grew disgusted with them and stopped watching or betting.

Once while cleaning her sabre after a particularly dull match that left both women as ill at ease as before they started, Myka caught Claudia staring at her with a resigned look.

“What?” She asked, rather more sharply than she intended.

Claudia hesitated, then seemed to make a mental gamble. “Look, I get it okay? She’s not a Warehouse agent anymore and you think that the Warehouse is everything and I’m not saying you’re wrong but how often in this life do you find someone literally willing to take on an entire Spanish galleon – not to mention half a dozen men personally – for you?”

All of this was said without a single pause and in the time it took Myka to translate the statement from Claudia-speak, the younger woman had fled.

And because she was alone, Myka admitted, “only once.”

Thus stood matters as the _Starry Night_ rounded the tip of Sicily and sailed north to Venice.


	12. Chapter 12

A day from making port in the famed city, Myka entered Helena’s cabin to find the Captain poring over a map of Venice.

Helena waved her to a chair and gestured to an open wine bottle all without looking up.

“Whoever they are, they would be hard pressed to pick a better place to headquarter,” she muttered, almost to herself. “Along all the major trading routes, with numerous fortifications; the mainland, the East and Africa within easy reach, and a rat’s nest of canals and construction layered atop each other.” Helena gestured with frustration at the offending piece of parchment. “This can give me only the most basic sense of Venice itself, and with Alfonso’s people gone, I am unsure of my own contacts there.”

Myka pondered the situation. She had received no reply from the Warehouse and it would take a very long time, even by gull, for a message to make it to London and back now. The usual method of communication between Warehouse ships and the Warehouse itself had been destroyed with the _Artifact Hunter,_ and truly, there was no guarantee that Commodore Frederic had even received the message Myka sent in the first place.

“I must assume that I am not the only Warehouse Agent on this hunt. Unfortunately, I have no way of knowing who else the Commodore might have sent and no access to Warehouse resources. I am sailing as blind as you at the moment, Captain,” Myka replied ruefully, pouring herself a cup of wine.

Helena’s mouth quirked. “Well if I know Warehouse Agents, they will likely show up precisely when it is most inconvenient for us, or just _after_ we have managed to resolve whatever fray we will likely land ourselves in.”

Myka couldn’t help it. Helena’s expression was so aggrieved that it pulled laughter from the Agent unwillingly. She had to bite her lip to stop and forced herself to focus once more on the map.

Wells pretended to ignore her and nursed her wounded dignity, sipping her win gravely.

“So,” Myka attempted after a moment of stifling her laughter. “What now? I would think we will need _s_ ome kind of intelligence gathering.”

Turning back to the task at hand, Helena nodded. “Indeed. The _Ti…Starry Night_ will dock just as any other merchant ship and I plan to send several of the crew to seek trading contracts. We should keep up that appearance as long as possible. As for the rest, it is my thought to spread the crew out through the city, have them continue the pretense of being a merchant’s crew on leave. With money to buy rounds at the local taverns, it is my hope that they may hear something useful spilled from wine-sodden lips. That should take care of the commoners, but if what Alfonso says is true, and I have no reason to doubt it, our quarry may have insinuated himself into the elite of the city.”

Myka raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t thought of that. Enjoying watching Wells’ mind at work, however, she merely smiled. “And I suppose you have a plan for that too do you?”

Helena’s grin was devilish. “Oh, I might, but I’m afraid you won’t like it,” she warned.

* * *

Lieutenant-Commander Myka Bering looked at Captain H.G. Wells, then to the, the…monstrosityin Wells’ hand, then back to the woman holding it.

“You mustbe joking,” she stated flatly.

“Oh not in the least,” Helena replied brightly, trying and failing miserably to restrain her amusement at the appalled expression on Myka’s face.

They had been in port for three days now. Three days where the crew of the _Starry Night_ traded their cargo for spices and silk and spent their ‘pay’ up and down the waterfront. They drank and diced and plied the locals and other crews for information about ‘unusual goings on’.

What they learned, however, only led to more questions. There were indeed dark rumors of a new power in the city. Thieves and rogues had turned up dead, but so had minstrels, beggars and dock hands and there seemed to be neither rhyme nor reason to it. It set the common folk on edge though and more than one of Wells’ crew had been warned by a furtive-eyed dock worker or sailor to ‘keep yer eyes open and don’t stray far beyond yer ship.’

Yet they were no closer after three days to pinning down an exact location then they had been at the moment the ship made berth.

Which is how Myka and Helena came be standing in Helena’s cabin, arguing over…

“It’s revolting!”

“Oh come now, Commander! I beg to differ. I think Mr. Jinx and Ms. Donovan have outdone themselves. ‘Tis stunning and you will look the height of fashion in it,” Wells was all but rubbing her hands in glee and Myka actually pouted. H.G. nearly bit through her tongue to keep from laughing.

“There is no use protesting my dear. You’re the only one who can pass for gentry. I’m afraid my face might well be known by someone, and despite Katherine’s upbringing and education, the continental elite would never accept an _oriental,”_ Wells’ nearly spat the word, clear in her disgust at that particular ridiculous, narrow-minded attitude. What Helena didn’t add is that trying to put Katherine James in a corset would result in either the Doctor or the Captain dead on the floor and it likely would not have been James. Helena was a pirate. Not a fool. 

“It has a corset.” Myka was grasping at straws and they both knew it.

Tonight was one of the majorsocial events of the season in Venice; a kind of governor’s ball that was thrown in conjunction with some local festival – not, Myka thought gratefully, the great Carnival that was held in early spring. The streets would be far too packed then.

This was a smaller affair for locals, ensuring every member of the Venetian gentry – really anyone with a ridiculous amount of money, Venice was a trade city after all – would be in attendance. And while the rich were partying, so would their servants and the rest of the ‘lower’ classes. It was the perfect time to scour the warehouses and other areas they hadn’t yet gained access to. Meanwhile, Myka would be escorted to the official ball by Jinx. Helena herself would be taking to the streets. Only a skeleton crew would be left on board the _Starry Night,_ though Claudia had been seen whispering with one of the engineers and taking measurements of the gang plank so there would likely be some….unannounced security.

Helena merely raised one eyebrow.

“Oh alright! I’ll wear the blasted thing, but I will _not_ tighten that damn corset. Now get out and let me change. And send in Claudia!”

Having gotten her victory, Helena beat a hasty retreat and signaled to the young Midshipman that her temperamental officer was waiting inside. Claudia flashed a conspiratorial grin and then darted into the cabin, leaving Wells to go make her own preparations.

On the way to the upper deck, Wells encountered her first mate and found herself smiling once again, though for a very different reason. Dressed in a black velvet coat and hose with polished black boots, a gentleman’s sword at his side and lace at his throat, Jinx looked distinctly uncomfortable. He also looked very handsome, and not for the first time, Helena took a small, selfish bit of satisfaction that Steven had no interest in women.

“Captain,” he said, saluting casually. Helena smiled.

“You look positively dashing, Mr. Jinx.”

He merely rolled his eyes at her, making Wells laugh.

“Don’t worry sir, I’ll keep her safe.” Jinx' tone was quiet, but his blue eyes were intense in the dim light.

Moved, Helena found she had no reply and instead merely touched his arm and nodded. Jinx then turned toward her cabin and Helena took a steadying breath and went to don the doublet, hose and breeches she would be wearing under her cloak. Instead of her favorite katana, tonight she would wear a rapier with a knife in each boot. To the casual observer, with her hood up, she would be just another gentleman passing to or from the revelry.

Her weapons secured, Wells conferred one last time with those crewmembers staying on board, then turned up her hood and walked off the ship. She would join the others who were already searching as they spread out in a loose grid.

She did not see Myka again before she left.

* * *

Myka Bering was bored. And her feet ached. And very well, she would admit the dress wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as she thought it might be, and _yes_ if the stares of eligible (and not-eligible) men – and some of the women – were any indication she apparently looked rather good in it, but she did not really care for any of that right at this moment. Because at this moment, she was bored.

“ _No_ respect for the aesthetic of the neighborhood with that terrible ugly wall, why it’s a disgrace! The only good thing you can say is that he’s somehow managed to get rid of all the pigeons in the area. Filthy rats aren’t they? Droppings everywhere.” In front of Myka an older, graying, boozy specimen of the insanely wealthy merchant class was holding forth on the unfortunate decorating habits of his neighbors,  his diatribe prompting her to seriously consider the implications of taking the nearest wine bottle and braining him.

She and Jinx had been circulating the party for hours  now, and Myka was heartily sick of it; the insipid conversation, the covetous glances at other people’s partners, or jewels, or clothing, the ridiculous manners and boring music…Myka would have given anything in that moment to be back about the _Time Machine,_ seated in Helena’s cabin, debating literature while sharing a mug of ale.

“How dreadful,” she murmured to her companion while scanning the crowd for Jinx who'd slipped away to get her a drink. To be fair, Jinx' company had been the highlight of this ridiculous venture. The first mate was quiet and gentle, with a startling wicked sense of humor and a very light touch on the dance floor and Myka had to own, they made a striking couple - he in black velvet and she in the crimson gown with its beaded bodice and rather daring neckline (though as Myka looked around, she realized that by comparison, her gown was downright conservative. Some of the women in attendance looked ready to spill out at any moment and the thought made her bite her cheek to keep from smiling).

Before the old coot could get his third or fourth wind, however, Myka spotted Jinx heading her way and with her best simpering smile dredged from the recesses of her memory, she excused herself and moved to hook her arm in the first mate’s.

Leaning into her companion’s side, Myka whispered just loud enough for him to hear. “Jinx. I have curtsied, and danced, and flounced and flattered and preened and smiled all night. And do you know what I have learned?”

“Not a blasted thing?” He was no more comfortable in this glittering, overfed world than Myka was.

“You are correct. Not a blasted thing. If something _is_ going on in this city, as long as it doesn’t interfere with their wine, their food, their parties…”

“Or their cheating on their spouses,” Jinx supplied under his breath.

“Or that. If it doesn’t interfere with those things, they have no idea it exists.”

Jinx sighed wearily in response. “I agree. I think this is a lost cause. And we’ve at least gained introduction to enough of them that should we need to question them further, we’ll have an excuse to call.”

“So it’s agreed, we can leave now?” Myka tried to keep the eagerness out of her tone.

“Absolutely.”

“ _Finally.”_

Decision reached, they turned strolled arm in arm through the crowds, waving and smiling and offering a word to those people whom they had been introduced to. They were pretending to be a young married couple from England, with Jinx traveling to Venice to oversee the possibility of expanding his father’s trading business and Myka donning the role of an adventurous young woman who wanted to see the world before settling down with the children. The older couples they’d met practically fawned over them and Myka had to work very hard to hold onto the social graces and mind-set she had been raised with. The more insipid the conversation, the more she just wanted to smilingly tell the people in front of her that she was willingly consorting with the notorious female pirate H.G. Wells and, in fact, had feelings of a most impure nature toward said pirate.

Instead she smiled some more, nearly bit her cheek raw, and clung to Jinx’s arm until they were out of the grand ball room. She didn’t let go until they were down onto the street, collecting Claudia and two of the crew who had accompanied them as escorts.

“At last, _”_ Myka sighed, moving away from the first mate who was surreptitiously rubbing his arm where she’d gripped it.

“I sure hope the Captain has had better luck,” Jinx agreed wearily, scanning the buildings across from them, checking for threats.

“We’re clear,” Claudia muttered, as the group began to stroll down the street. There were still a great many people about, carriages and foot traffic weaving around each other. Every tavern and ale house was crowded and music, laughter and the occasional fight spilled through open doors. People were preoccupied with their own celebrations and other than avoiding a few overzealous would-be suitors for Myka, the small group encountered no trouble. They were halfway to the ship when a movement in the shadows of an alley sent all of them reaching for a weapon (Myka had managed to secret a knife up her sleeve).

A low, rich chuckle, however, stilled their movements and shattered the sudden tension of the moment.

“Really Captain?” Jinx said in an aggrieved voice as Wells stepped from an alleyway as if formed from the shadows themselves.

“Forgive me, my friend. But I commend you on your attention. Chambers, Terrell, you may continue to the ship. Tell Katherine we’ll be late.”

The two crewmembers looked at each briefly then saluted quickly and trotted off along the street, fading in and out of the puddles of light thrown by the streetlamps.

“You two,” Wells eyed Claudia and Jinx and then shook her head. “Keep your distance and your eyes open.” And then she turned to Myka and offered her arm.

“Would you do me the honor Commander?” Standing at the edge of the shadows with her cloak around her, hood removed, Helena looked as if she had been conjured from the night itself. Her eyes were fathomless in her pale face and Myka’s heart began to race in her chest.

The little voice in her head that always warned her when it was time to be cautious was screaming now, telling her this was a bad idea, that it would destroy the careful balance she and Helena had reached. But before her mind could decide, Myka’s arm reached out as if of its own volition and laid her fingers atop Helena’s. The skin beneath Myka's fingertips was warm and soft, a delicate covering over the elegant sculpture of bone and muscle that was Helena’s hand. Eyes glittering in the streetlight, Helena took Myka’s hand and placed it in the crook of her arm and that terrified little voice in Myka’s head died a very swift and much needed death.

“It would be my pleasure,” she found herself whispering, unable to look away from Helena’s gaze.

And with that, Helena turned and led her down the alleyway and between several buildings.

Myka had just enough time to wonder where on earth they were going and then Helena was pushing open a gate whose lock had clearly been broken recently. She rolled her eyes but followed without hesitation as Helena strode through someone’s courtyard to a set of steps built into the side of a large house. A rich someone apparently as the house was several stories tall. Up and up they climbed in the dark, Myka's only tether the solid warmth of Helena’s arm where her hand was held securely until they reached the roof and…

“Oh, Helena…it’s beautiful,” Myka breathed.

They stood at the edge of a rooftop garden surrounded by a low stone wall and illuminated here and there by candles in glass holders hidden among the flowers, tiny flames dancing like fairies among the leaves. Beyond them, the entire city stretched, glittering with the lights of the celebration. Turning around, Myka found herself looking out to sea, seeing the harbor transformed from a pedestrian port of call to an enchanted space where points of light from the docked ships danced on the ocean’s surface as if reflected in a dark mirror.

“Helena…” she stated, only to have her voice fail her. Turning back to her companion, Myka found Helena had removed her cloak and was attired as a gentleman in snowy white shirt and fawn breeches, her boots and a black velvet doublet, her able hair flowed free about her shoulders and the laces at her throat were undone. Distantly, Myka registered that Claudia and Jinx had vanished, but at that moment, Helena reached out her hand and asked, in a voice full of promise,

“Would you dance with me?”

And as if by her command, the breeze carried the sound of music from a nearby square to them.

For the second time, Myka acted without thought. Her hand reached out to Helena before her mind managed to offer input – though in truth there was none to offer, her heartbeat rushed loud in her ears and the stays of her dress felt constricting. Then Myka stepped closer, Helena’s hand moved to her waist and Myka was no longer aware of anything but Helena. The space between their bodies vanished and though Myka knewthat it was impossible, she could have sworn that her skin warmed at the nearness of the other woman. Wells’ eyes seemed to hold the darkness of the entire night and yet as they swept her face, Myka felt the gaze as if a caress, nearly gasping like a maiden under the warm weight of the promise in Helena's eyes. She barely knew it when with the most subtle of pressures at her hip, Helena lead them to dance.

Myka’s body responded as easily as she breathed, easier perhaps, given her shortness of breath at the moment. Together they waltzed around the candlelit garden oblivious to anything but each other. When the music drifting on the breeze changed, they never noticed as they traced the steps they moved closer and closer, until with a final turn, Helena pulled Myka to her, closing the last breath of divide between their bodies.

For one moment, Myka held herself rigid with shock, but Helena’s gaze was so intense, the feeling of Helena's body against her own felt so _right_ that the last of whatever resistance she might have had faded away like a sea mist before the sun. With a soft, soft sigh, Myka let herself go, trusting Helena to catch her if she fell. And so they continued to dance around the rooftop, moving as one, eyes never leaving each other's faces, hands sure and steady. In that moment, nothing else existed for Myka. Not the mission, not the Warehouse, not her duty, her fears, nothing. There was only the warmth of Helena’s touch and the yielding strength of her body, the subtle pressure of their hips and the soft swell of Helena's breasts against  her own. For a time at least, Myka willingly gave in to the long forgotten pleasure of existing only for the moment.

* * *

Helena hadn't planned to seek Myka out. Not truly. It had been her intention, in fact, to avoid seeing Myka in the dress that Jinx and Claudia had returned to the ship with, because Wells was very much aware of what the sight of the other woman inthat dress would do to her. It was bad enough imagining the rich color against Myka's creamy skin. The dress wasn’t just red, it was the crimson of blood spilled on fresh snow, and while its neckline was hardly risqué, it was only too easy for Helena’s imagination to provide an image of the soft rise of Myka’s breasts above the beadwork of the bodice.

So no, Wells had not intendedto seek out Myka and Jinx. Whether or not waiting in the shadows on the path they were likely to take back to the ship constituted ‘intention’ was a debate Helena simply refused to have with herself.

When she saw Myka walking down the street arm in arm with Jinx, all the warnings in her head sounded.

When Helena watched Myka’s face dissolve in wonder at the rooftop garden, those warnings vanished like smoke on the wind.

And then she was holding Myka in her arms and they were drifting across the paving stones, only the feel of Myka’s hand in hers and Myka’s body brushing her own. Nothing existed beyond the circle of their arms. Myka danced as she fought, with a natural grace that was breathtaking. Helena didn’t so much guide her as simply move with her. There was no conscious thought involved as they moved to a melody that existed only in the space between their hearts.

How long they moved together neither knew, nor cared. Eventually though, they drifted to a stop. Helena could feel dawn pressing just beyond the horizon and before reason and caution could re-assert itself, she was sliding her hands into Myka’s hair and bending her lips to the other woman’s.

It was a gentle kiss at first, both of them shocked at Helena’s audacity. But soon enough, Myka’s hands were slipping around Helena’s waist and she was kissing the back, a soft moan escaping as her mouth opened to Helena’s tongue and the kiss deepened. And oh, what a kiss. If there had been any part of Myka able to feel anything but the sensations created by Helena’s mouth, she might have been terribly galled at the way her body simply _melted_ into the the other woman's embrace.

Since no such part existed, however, there was no confusion.

Helena wasn't faring much better. For all her reticence, when Myka committed to something, she held nothing back and as the passion rose between them, Helena knew this time was no different. The eagerness in Myka’s touch filled Helena with a _want_ so pure it set her knees to trembling, stole her breath from her chest.

She wanted to taste Myka: All of her. She wanted to see the other woman’s skin laid bare before her, to know in her bones what it was like to run her hands over the elegant planes of that body, to hear the sounds Myka made when she finally let herself go, to know if she trembled…Helena wanted it all.

And she could not have it.

The realization was a knife to her gut, pushing and twisting.

She embraced the sensation, for the knowledge gave Helena the strength to gentle the kiss and finally pull away, even if it left her barely able to stand.

In the middle of the candlelit garden, the two women clung to each other, breathing raggedly, foreheads pressed together.

Helena’s hands were on Myka’s cheeks and Myka  clung to Helena’s shoulders as if at any moment she might collapse. Then again, Helena mused darkly, if she felt anything like Wells herself, it was a highly likely outcome.

“Myka,” she started, only to have her voice fail her. What could she possibly say? ‘I love you? Come away with me?’ Bitterness flooded Wells’ chest, tightening her ribs around her hear like a cage. Swallowing, she straightened. The view of the harbor, the lights dancing on the water, the fabled city of Venice itself, Helena saw none of it. Her vision was filled only with Myka as she raised her head, jeweled eyes bright with unshed tears.

“Myka…” the sharp motion of Myka's head stilled her tongue.

“Helena,” Myka made the name a plea, and it hit Wells like a physical blow. “We _can’t,_ ” she whispered, voice nearly throbbing with anguish.

Her breath left her in a rush and Wells nearly laughed, something hard and bitter clawing its way up her throat until she had to bite her cheek savagely to hold hold it back. “I know,” she finally managed. And Helena did know. With every fiber of her being she understood, even if she hated it. “When this is all over, you shall return to the Warehouse, triumphant, and most likely with a promotion. And I will do what I do best, and disappear.”

At that, Myka’s breath hitched and her hands came up to rest on Helena’s wrists, as if she could anchor the other woman to her.

“I can’t...” Myka trailed off. A part of her hated herself for her own cowardice, but before she could continue, Helena shook her head firmly.

“No, Myka, you needn’t explain. You have a life _,_ and a commission, and a family and a future. And none of those are with me. And no matter what others might say of me, I am not so selfish to ask you to choose.” And now a sad, weary smile twisted her lips.

“And so, what, you will simply let me walk away when we’re done?” Myka’s voice trembled. Helena swallowed hard, anger rising quick as a flame catches oil soaked rags.

“Do not insult me Myka Bering. There will be nothing simpleabout watching you leave.” Wells punctuated her words by sliding her hands into Myka’s thick mane of hair and gripping just hard enough to sting.

Instead of resisting, Myka embraced it and held tighter to the other woman’s arms. Her surrender was almost Helena's undoing. 

“But yes,” Wells gritted out, gentling her hold and stroking Myka’s cheek with her thumb. “Whatever other traits we may or may not share my dear Myka, we neither one of us are the fools that poets write of who would throw their lives away for the possibility of love, no matter how much we silently yearn to do just that.”

At her words, Myka gave a broken laugh and reached up to cup Helena’s face in her hands, blinking against a sudden blur in her vision that most definitely wasn't tears. It wasn't. 

“So what do we do?” She asked finally, voice cracking as her thumb returned Helena’s touch and stroked the silken cheek she could barely make out.

Beneath her touch Myka felt the other woman stand a little straighter and something in her chest twisted and burned. She guessed the next words even beefore Helena’s thumb wiped away the single tear that escaped Myka’s lashes.  “Now," Helena said gently, much too gently. "Now we return to the ship and do our best to find this faceless enemy who has kidnapped your Captain Arthur and Mr. Lattimer, and destroy him.” Wells paused and let out a shuddering breath. “Now we say our goodbyes, so that when the time comes there are no drawn out leave-takings… and now I swear that by everything I hold dear, Myka Bering, I shall _never_ forget you.”

And before Myka could respond, Helena tilted her head and pressed her lips to Myka’s.

It was a chaste kiss, nothing like what they shared moments ago, only the merest brush of lips so surprising that Myka gave a tiny gasp…and it was over. Helena stepped back, her hands dropping away from Myka’s face and then turned on her heel and walked away to the edge of the garden.

“I must return to the ship and see if we've gained the intelligence we need. Claudia and Jinx will escort you back, Commander.”

Then she was just _gone_ and Myka was left alone, and perhaps more lonely in that moment than at any point in her entire life.

But she was an Agent of the Warehouse, and a Lieutenant-Commander in His Majesty’s Navy. She had a mission to complete, and Wells was right. Myka Bering had never been the type of woman to allow herself the luxury of love.

No matter how much she truly did silently want it.

Wiping her eyes, she took a deep breath and set her jaw. She could do this. She mustdo this. Pete and Artie were counting on her.

Clinging to that thought, Myka walked to the edge of the roof and descended the stairs where she found Claudia and Jinx waiting for her, trying incredibly hard not to look as though they were dying of curiosity. At any other time, the sight would have made Myka laugh.

Now she felt absolutely numb.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear history buffs, I am well aware that fudge probably did not exist in the 1700’s (though I believe chocolate did, at least among the classes that could afford it). Guess what? I’m using it anyway.

In inexplicable juxtaposition to the numbness in her heart, Myka’s physical sense seemed almost on overdrive. She was hyper-aware of her surroundings, as if her mind was desperate for something, anythingto latch on to that was not the endless loop of the memory of Helena leaving. She could feel Jinx and Claudia behind her, their nearness an almost physical pressure on her nerves. Every rustle of the silk of her dress was suddenly loud and she was aware of the way it clung to her body and moved with every breath she took. The night air was balmy and soft against her exposed skin and the sound of cooing pigeons was a gentle punctuation to the noises of a city gradually going to sleep.

Later she would thank whatever power was watching over them for that awareness, for all that it nearly came too late.

Walking in front of Jinx and Claudia, lost in the tug of war between her memory and the present, she almost did not truly comprehend what her nose was trying to tell her. It took a long second before the connections formed in Myka’s mind and then,

“Jinx, Claudia? _Run!”_ Myka reached around and grabbed Claudia’s sleeve and took off, Jinx an instant behind.

“Mykes what?” Claudia yelled and then her eyes widened and she put on a burst of speed. “Fudge!”

“What?” Jinx yelled, catching up to them. “Why are we…”

His unfinished question was answered as the air behind them exploded. The wall of heat slammed into the three shipmates, throwing them to the pavement.

Myka acted on instinct, rolling as adrenaline coursed through her blood and her ears rang with the aftermath of the attack. Dragging herself up, she reached for Claudia who was already struggling into a standing position and turned to Jinx who was apparently somewhat more resilient as he bounded back to his feet.

“What the hell?” He yelled. There was no time for explanations however.

“Just _RUN!”_ Myka bellowed, hiking up her skirts and racing flat out through the twisting streets, thanking providence she was wearing flat shoes. Her friends followed just on her heels. Everything around them passed in a blur – the lighted doors of taverns, street lamps, the windows of houses. The streets were emptying this close to morning but Myka wanted to avoid main thoroughfares where they could be easily tracked. Instead she dodged into alleys and down narrow ledges alongside of canals.

Around buildings, over a wall (she heard a ripping noise and cringed to think of what that sound meant for her dress) and then they were in sight of the harbor.

Pulling up sharply, Myka motioned to Jinx and Claudia and together they flattened themselves into the shadows. Struggling to control her breathing, Myka looked around frantically.

“Do you see anything? Smell anything?” she panted, the others craning their necks, looking back along their trail and finally shaking their heads.

“Alright, hopefully if there was pursuit we lost them, but we best make for the ship quick and quiet.” And with that Myka slipped from the alley, taking a circuitous route to the main dock area. Muscles tight and heart pounding, those few yards seemed an eternity and it was only when she saw the familiar silhouette of the _Time Machine’s_ masts that she took a breath. The three of them were approaching the ship when figures melted out of the darkness. For an instant Myka’s heart leapt until she recognized Hawk and Sarah.

“Commander!” Sarah’s voice was heavy with relief. “Thank goodness! We were afraid the explosion…”

“Yes, that was us,” Myka explained, pleased to hear her voice was steady, her mind and body slowly calming from their ‘flight or fight’ state. Looking around as the _Time Machine’s_ crew escorted them over the gang plank, however, Myka felt a different kind of fear creep stealthily into her heart.

“Where is…” but her question died in her mouth as she heard Helena’s voice raised in anger.

“I don’t give a damn Katherine, I need to see if she is…” Helena trailed off as she stormed onto the deck and caught sight of Myka standing in the lantern light.

For a moment the two women froze; the tension around them a glass thread threatening to shatter at one wrong breath. Myka recovered first. Swallowing hard she forced a smile. “I’m afraid we had a rather close run in with a curiosity, but the only victim was my dress," she said, shaking the rather worse for wear folds of crimson silk. “So, if you will pardon me, I think I’ll change into something not quite so drafty.”

Forcing herself not to look at Helena, Myka strode below decks and to her hammock. There she struggled with her dress until a gentle touch at her back signaled Claudia’s arrival. The Midshipman was quiet as she helped her Officer disrobe.

By the time Myka was once again dressed in breeches and a shirt with her sabre at her hip and her hair tied severely back, she felt at least in tenuous control of herself. Turning at last to her friend she nodded. “Very well, shall we see if the crew has managed to gain any valuable intelligence?”

For a moment Claudia looked like she might speak, then thought better of it and just nodded.

Her hand on the hilt of her sword and her jaw tight, Myka made her way to the Captain’s cabin, Claudia close behind.

* * *

The cabin was crowded, Jinx, Hawk, Katherine, Sarah and Claudia all in attendance and together the group crowded around the Captain’s desk, sharing what they had found. Lamps blazed on the walls, giving the now-familiar space a bright, almost homey atmosphere. Myka turned that thought away savagely. Helena looked up when she entered and for a moment, her dark eyes blazed, but she too seemed to be struggling to rein in her emotions for she looked away. When Helena raised her eyes again, her elegant features were set in a beautiful mask.

“This attack on Commander Bering changes everything,” Helena stated shortly, running a hand through her hair. “We must assume that we are being watched and the risk of attack is imminent.”

Something clicked into place in Myka’s mind at Helena’s words, something she hadn’t really been conscious of struggling to make sense of, but now, like a puzzle piece or a long frustrated tumbler in a lock finally letting go, she could almost feel it open the doors of her memory. The room drifted out of focus as she let her mind loose, voice distant as she thought out loud. “I’m not so sure. The timing of the attack has been bothering me. They waited until youwere gone Helena. I believe the attack was directed at myself and perhaps Mr. Jinx.”

She had everyone’s attention now. Blinking, Myka looked down at the map of Venice, avoiding Helena’s gaze. “Whoever our attacker was, they had plenty of time to attack the four of us, yet they did not.”

Now it was Jinx’s turn to pick up the thread of her thoughts. “I agree. If the target was the _Time Machine_ or the Captain, there was ample opportunity for that. We didn’t take the same route back to the ship that she did…” he trailed off, brows pulling down over his bright blue eyes as he struggled to remember any pertinent detail.

“So if it was us, the important question is why? If their target was not the _Time Machine,_ then they were attempting to eliminate the people we were pretending to be, which means the connection is the ball, but what…” Myka stopped, her analytical mind clicking through every moment of the party, replaying faces and behavior and conversations. She could sense the answer hovering close but just out of reach, like a leaf dancing in the wind that she could see but kept slipping through her fingers. And yet nothing stood out, nothing was unusual, it was just a lot of gossip and petty jealousy and complaining and…

“That’s it!” And suddenly the puzzle made sense. “He was complaining about his new neighbor!” Myka’s eyes lit as her mind chased the final connections and then she made a face of frustration, nearly slapping her forehead. “Oh howcould I have missed it? How stupidof me! ‘Odd comings and goings, a new wall and windows that were always shuttered!’ And the pigeons! He said the pigeons were gone! Jinx it was the old man, that windbag you rescued me from at the end! His neighbor: That mustbe who we are looking for!”

Helena was right there with her, following the trail of her thoughts, turning immediately to Sarah, her voice echoing Myka’s excitement.

“Sarah darling, I know tis night, but can you reach the pigeons of the city? Find out where they will not fly?”

The tiny girl’s smile was wicked. “Aye!” She said brightly, and ran out of the cabin.

Helena wasted no time. Turning and addressing Hawk, her voice was quick and precise with command. “Mr. Hawk, turn out the crew, let them know our quarry is within our grasp. I do not want to give them time to break cover and run. We move tonight. Tell everyone we dress for a raid – dark clothing, cover anything that shines. Katherine, we’re going to need some of that damned stimulant tea.”

Her crew barely waited for Wells to finish speaking before jumping to carry out her orders.

Jinx and Claudia took one look at the Captain and Commander, stammered excuses and fled together. It left Myka and Helena alone in the cabin, trying to avoid looking at each other.

This time it was Helena who charged bravely into the silence.

“I am…I am quite glad you’re safe Myk…Commander.”

Looking up, Myka gave a weak smile. “And I’m glad they weren’t targeting the _Time Machine_ and her crew.”

“That was good work, remembering what the ‘old windbag’ said.” Helena’s grin was but a fraction of its usual strength, but her words still sent a stab of guilt and frustration through Myka.

“I should have realized it sooner. I wasn’t paying attention.” When Wells would have said something conciliatory, however, a sharp shake of Myka's head cut her off. “I wasn’t paying attention because….because I was too busy thinking about you.” Myka’s voice was small, but the admission echoed between them as clearly as if shouted to the heavens.

Helena looked away and ran her hand through her hair again, finally nodding. “Well, I’m afraid I won’t apologize for being on your mind, but…I would never want to endanger you Myka. _Never.”_ With a soft sigh, she straightened. “It hardly matters now I suppose. If all goes according to plan we should be well shot of this mysterious adversary by morning. And then the _Time Machine_ will sail for more lucrative waters.”

Myka had no reply, and anyway, her throat was suddenly so tight she would have been unable to speak even had she the words. Instead she merely nodded once.

“I should prepare for this,” Helena spoke, and the weariness in her voice was evident. “Sarah will have our destination soon I hope. Just…be safe, Myka.”

“You too,” Myka whispered before turning on her heel and walking out of the cabin.

* * *

It did not take a privateer’s crew long to assemble. It took thiscrew even less time. It seemed like mere moments before Myka and Claudia – dressed head to toe in dark clothing with strips of black fabric around their sword hilts – were standing amongst the rest of the crew below decks. It was crowded, but no one muttered. Instead it was eerily quiet except for the occasional sound of fabric ripping or a whetstone sliding over steel. A small canister of soot was passed from person to person and those who chose not to cover their faces with some kind of cloth dipped fingers into it and smeared the clinging black stuff over exposed skin. It was followed by a pot of some strong smelling liquid and most of the crew were using the small tin dipper to take a healthy sip. By the grimaces of those who chose to do so, the – Myka sniffed when it was handed to her – tea was not tasty, but she couldn't afford to be tired, so she dared the dipper. Her face was no less disgusted when she passed it on. The hot liquid felt comforting sliding into her stomach though, and there was a heady familiarity in the way her heart sped up as her body prepared for combat.

The sound of striding footsteps signaled Helena’s approach, followed by Jinx. In solid black with only their faces bare, they looked like apparitions and Myka had to suppress a shiver.

Wells took in her crew at a glance and nodded. Slinging her katana over her shoulder and holstering a pistol in her belt, she addressed the assembled men and women.

“I have never been a conventional captain, and you are not a typical crew. The dangers we may face tonight are myriad and unknown. What I ask is far more than a captain has any right to expect from any crew, therefore I will not order anyof you to follow me. I would merely ask for volunteers…”

She never even got to finish. Every single member of the crew stepped forward.

It was Jinx, however, putting his hand on her shoulder in a rare gesture that spoke up. “We may not know the whole of what is driving you Captain, but we know there is a greater purpose at work here. One worth fighting for. At the very least, these bastards destroyed a friendly ship and kidnapped English citizens. We’re with you.”

There was a soft swell of fierce agreement and then Helena, eyes suspiciously bright in the low light, signaled for their silence. She opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment, Sarah came sliding down the steps.

“Couldn’t get none o’ the pigeons, found an owl, better vision, we got ‘im!” The girl related in a breathless rush.

Helena didn’t hesitate. “Sarah, Jinx, you’re with me. The rest of you, follow us in groups of three and four. Stay silent, stay in sight range but spread out. I want our quarry to have as little warning as possible. Good luck and god speed. Come back safe my friends.”

And with that Wells and Jinx dashed up the stairs behind Sarah and disappeared.

Grouped back among the rest of the crew, it was a few moments before Claudia and Myka made it onto the deck. From there, they waited until Hawk motioned for them to move and then they were slipping down the gangplank and across the docks.

What followed was nothing so much as a very odd game of silent, deadly tag through the streets of Venice. In small groups, staying to the shadows, the crew fanned out. There were few people awake now, the windows of the houses dark as occupants inside slept off the excesses of their earlier revelry, unaware of the men and women ghosting silently past them beyond their doors.

Each group moved in quick bursts, waiting for a hand signal of ‘all clear’ from the groups ahead before slipping to the next street or alley. In this way they followed Sarah’s directions. At one point, crouching behind some barrels and scanning the darkened rooftops, straining to see any possible danger, Myka nearly jumped out of her skin when Claudia whispered in her ear.

“Hey Mykes, we need to make it to the front. I may have kinda worked something up with Sarah a while back and uh…we just need to get up there ok?”

In the darkness, Myka turned to the younger woman, about to ask what, on earth, she had concocted. The image of the Spanish galleon’s mast exploding chose that moment to pop into her head and the Officer decided she didn’t want to know. “Very well, let’s go.”

It seemed an eternity and yet no time at all before Myka and Claudia were ducking behind a low, decorative wall across the street from the house she had had described to her. The Officer had to admit, the old windbag had been correct. It really did ruin the aesthetic of the neighborhood. The wall was well over a man height and all the windows that were visible on the house were, indeed, boarded up. The house itself was massive – one of the old monstrosities built in past decades by merchants and continental nobles who wanted to show off how much money they had. Its only deference to the fact that Venice was a crowded city was the small courtyard, visible only through a wrought-iron gate guarded by two men with rifles and swords who were very alert for this time of night.

Moving carefully, Myka edged along until she was crouching next to Helena and Sarah, Wells asking the young crewman something in hushed tones.

“…don’t want to be in the area, but we need to know if there is something actually blocking the birds from flying over the house. If they can’t, we may be dealing with a shield of some kind. And if that’s the case…” Helena and Myka shared a quick glance and Myka nodded. If there was an Artifact at work, they could be in for a great deal of difficulty.

“How do ya want me to do it Cap’n? Might look a bit odd t’have birds swoopin through tha courtyard.”

“Just have it crap on the guard’s head,” muttered Jinx, eliciting a snort of laughter from Claudia, quickly stifled.

Wells merely shrugged. “Might as well. Have your friend fly low over the courtyard and aim for the wall.”

“And if he hits it, then I’ve got that er… thing… we talked about, Sarah,” Claudia whispered.

Myka had a moment to muse on the turns her life had taken in the service of the Warehouse that she was now crouched outside some rich nob’s house, watching another house, in the dead of night, covered in soot and waiting for a bird to do its business on a stone wall.

“Ah, the excitement of being a Warehouse Agent, eh?” Helena leaned over and whispered to her and Myka had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

The two women shared a quick grin, but at that moment Sarah pointed at a winged shape swooping through the darkness. There was a breathless hush and then one of the guards jumped and made angry gestures at his shoulder. His partner started and then began to laugh and Sarah grinned like a devil.

Wells turned to Claudia. “Well Ms. Donovan?”

Sarah was already holding out her arm and an instant later the darkness seemed to spit forth a large, brown flecked barn owl with a white face and talons that reached around the girl’s entire arm.

Claudia was already reaching into a pack Myka hadn’t noticed she carried and conferring in a series of animated whispers with Sarah while fiddling with something she had removed. When finished, she turned to Helena and Myka.

“Ok, so if these things do what they’re supposed to, they will explode on impact. And it should be a pretty decent boom, so Sarah says to let her know where you want them.”

“How many do you have?” Wells asked.

“Only two. I didn’t time for more. Sarah thinks the owl can carry them both at the same time.”

Rather than reply to Claudia however, Wells crawled back along the line of her people until she reached Hawk. There was a quick conference Myka couldn’t hear and then several shadows detached themselves from the wall and vanished into the dark. Inching her way back, Wells answered Myka’s curious glance.

“I’m sending scouts around that house. I don’t want any surprises and I’ve passed word to be sent back down the line. We’ll move on your signal, Ms. Donovan.”

“Mine?” Claudia nearly squeaked. Myka could nearly hear Helena's smile.

“When the explosions go off darling. And don’t worry Commander, my people know to look for Commander Lattimer and Captain Nielsen. We’ll find them.” The Captain placed a hand on Claudia’s shoulder then with a last glance at Myka, moved to speak with Sarah once more.

And then they waited.

And waited.

Myka hated this part of any conflict. The waiting was the worst. It was the time the mind wandered and nerves grew taut. It was a time when doubts crept into the heart and things went wrong. It was a time when those who believed in gods prayed. Myka rarely found herself in that group, believing that if one found themselves in need of prayer, they were likely in sufficient trouble as to make prayer useless. Still, she sent a tentative plea into the night that Pete and Artie were okay. That was really all she needed right now. Myka resolutely ignored the treacherous voice that pointed out there was something – or rather some _one_ else – that she would very much like. Now was not the time.

No sooner had she thought that, than a soft scraping and movement out of the deeper shadows in the alley behind them resolved itself into the scouts Helena had ordered out. There was a whispered conference and then the scouts melted back along the line. Myka could just hear news being passed through the crew like a soft breeze disturbing grass.

Crouching next to Myka, Helena fingered the butt of her pistol. Her face was streaked in soot, but even now she was beautiful. It was really irritating.

“Well, I can’t say that a night-time frontal assault on an enemy compound with unknown fortifications and weaponry - not to mention possible Artifacts - is the most intelligent course of action I’ve ever taken, but our only advantage lies in that whoever is inside doesn't know we're aware of their true purpose. The longer we wait, the more likely we will lose that advantage. I’ve set word to be passed through the crew. We go in now and we go in hard – look for Mr. Lattimer and your Captain and take as many prisoners as possible. If you have any suggestions Commander, now would be a good time to make them.”

Her heart beat raced even faster, adrenaline a flash fire in her veins, Myka couldn’t bite back the fierce grin that split her face. “I’m afraid I don’t have any ideas myself. But if it helps,” Myka paused for a moment and pretended to consider. “I don’t believe this is anywhere _near_ the most rash thing I’ve ever done in the service of the Warehouse. Top ten perhaps, but no higher.”

Myka watched Wells try not to smile. “Remind me to get you to tell me about the other nine sometime, Commander. Right then, if there’s nothing else. Sarah… _go.”_


	14. Chapter 14

Claudia outdid herself this time. When the small canisters the owl carried hit the ground, the resulting explosion ripped the night apart. The bird’s aim was perfect. The first fireball took out the guards, the wrought-iron gate and a good section of the stone wall around it. The second hit the main door of the house and blew it inward, along with a large chunk of the front veranda and the surrounding walls.

 _So much for stealth!_ Myka just had time to think, and then Wells was up and running and the shadows came alive as the crew followed her. After that, time for thought was a luxury she could not afford. There was only the action and reaction of battle, nerves and muscles trained by exhausting hours of practice and experience working in concert without seeming direction by the mind. Myka’s senses at once stretched and narrowed; every cell in her body alive as her world narrowed to only what was in front of her, leaping a smoking pile of stone and sprinting across the small courtyard. Even now she could hear shouts and an alarm being raised inside the house and an instant later, men in various stages of dress boiled up from the rear of the dwelling. They were inside too, clattering down a grand winding staircase and emerging from other areas Myka couldn't see. She had only time for a fleeting realization that they were facing a verywell-armed and organized adversary who was fielding nearly a small army of his own, then gunfire split the night followed by yells and the clash of steel.

Glancing to her right as she ran, Myka caught a glimpse of some of Wells’ crew breaking off their charge and engaging the men in the courtyard, but an instant later her feet found the uneven remains of the wide marble steps and she was forced to concentrate on running.

Myka drew her pistol and distantly registered those crew around her who were so armed doing the same as they burst through the smoking remains of the entry way. The attackers found themselves in a grand, marble floored room that resembled nothing so much as a small ballroom. Indeed, crystal chandeliers glittered above and there was a great bank of windows off to the left that looked to lead to a veranda and possibly gardens. Myka had only a fleeting impression of gleaming white marble, gold fixtures, polished wood, the bright lights above and then her battle trained mind pushed it all away and she focused on the men rushing down the staircase and coming from farther back in the house.

Those not wearing bed-clothes were attired in a bland uniform of dove grey with various insignia in silver braid on the sleeves or shoulders. In essence then, it really _was_ a private army. There was no time to dwell on the implications though, many were kneeling and aiming or trying frantically to load rifles or pistols. The crew of the _Time Machine_ used their advantage well, however, and a ragged volley of shots rang out, Myka’s own among them.

Quarters quickly became too close for guns and blades were drawn. Bending down without slowing, Myka yanked her dagger from her boot and drew her sabre. Around her, Wells’ black-clad crew collided with the defenders like a wave against the breakwater. The clash of steel and the sound of boots striking marble filled the air, accompanied by the screams of the angry and injured. The noise echoed off the stone and wood paneled walls, making it even more chaotic.

Myka found herself engaging a burly man with his night shirt hanging out of his belt and no boots, clearly roused from bed. For all his size and strength (and her arm stung from the force of his blows where he closed with her) she was quicker and used her boot heels to her advantage. A well placed stomp and he yelled as she broke his toe then used his distraction to twist his blade between her dagger and sabre. She used the hilt of her sword to smash his temple. If he had a hard skull, he would be fine. In his place sprang two more men, both in that grey uniform with very little silver on their sleeves – foot soldiers then. Myka had no time to think after that. She merely fought.

And fought.

And fought.

Men came and went before her blade and every parry, thrust, dodge, riposte, attack and retreat began to run together. All that mattered was winning.

Quick glances around her showed the enemy dead or wounded mounting but they were fighting Wells’ crew to a standstill. _Where on earth are they all coming from?_ The question flickered through her mind as she dropped to her knees in a desperate attempt to avoid her opponent’s slashing attack and used her advantage to stab his thigh. With a scream he dropped and Myka jumped up, kicked his sword away and looked around for another quarry. Myka found herself at the rear edge of the conflict, still only halfway across the hall. A movement out of the corner of her eye brought her around to her right where she saw Sarah battling a man twice her size. Myka was moving instantly. The defender was in full uniform as well and it was clear he had not been called from slumber. He was steadily forcing Sarah back toward the rest of the fighting. It was not only the small crewmember’s plight that had Myka forcing her legs to move faster, however; it was the ring of keys at the soldier’s belt and the stone steps she saw leading _downward_ behind him.

Time began to stretch for Myka, each beat of her heart suddenly loud in her ears, like the ocean crashing over the noise rising around her. She could feel the pull of the large muscles in her legs and the limits of her lungs as she struggled to draw _more_ from her body. She was still yards away when the big man swung hard at Sarah, the sheer power of his arms knocking one of her knives away from her. She saw the instant Sarah’s attacker knew he had her, watched Sarah realize it too.

Myka was still four strides away.

The soldier raised his sword.

Three strides.

Sarah dove to the side.

Myka dropped to one knee and _slid,_ her hip taking the brunt of her weight as she slipped across the last bit of space and came in under the soldier’s raised guard. Her sabre in front of her like a lance, she ran him through.

The giant man looked down in shock at the metal protruding from his body, then his eyes dimmed and he collapsed, barely giving Myka enough time to get out of the way. Tugging at her blade, Myka’s senses suddenly screamed a warning and she whirled, only to see her would-be assassin clutch his throat and stumble forward, his momentum carrying him to a boneless heap at Myka’s feet.

Grinning savagely, Sarah darted forward and yanked her bloody knife from the dead man’s throat and – wiping it on his clothing – saluted Myka before running off to rejoin the fight.

There was no time to appreciate what had just happened, however. With a final yank, Myka freed her sabre and then sliced the tie holding the set of keys to her dead opponent’s belt. With a last glance at the melee going on behind her and quick prayer to whatever god might be willing to listen to her, Myka plunged into the darkened stair well.

Either her luck was holding or it was simply that every available man in the mansion had responded to the attack by the _Time Machine’s_ crew. Whatever the reason, Myka met no one when she finally emerged at the bottom of the stairs and found herself in a short, dank stone hallway. A wooden table with a scattered deck of cards and a half eaten dinner signaled that at least one person had been stationed here.

_Presumably the dead man with the keys._

The walls were slick, almost dripping with condensation and the lamps that sat in iron holders did little to dispel the gloom.

 _It must be under the water level down here,_ Myka realized as she walked forward. She could only hope that this was her destination. The hallway ended in an ‘L’ junction and turning the corner, Myka felt hope flare. On either side of the longer hall, there were heavy metal doors with bars across tiny windows.

 _Cells!_ Now if only…

“Pete? Artie?” She called hesitantly, heart in her throat. If they weren’t here…

“Pete?” She called louder, her voice sounding oddly flat in the space as the stone absorbed it.

Myka’s heart began to sink. She would never forgive herself if something happened to her partner and Artie…

“Myka? Mykes is that you? _MYKA!”_

_“PETE!”_

There was a pounding at one of the doors at the end of the hallway and Myka ran to it, fumbling with the keys to find the right one. Pete’s excited face was pressed against the tiny window and relief made Myka’s knees weak. In her haste, her fingers felt clumsy and it seemed to take forever for the shaped piece of metal to slide home and the tumblers to click into place. At last she was turning the handle and then Pete was grabbing her and pulling her into a hug so tight she felt her ribs creak. Myka didn’t care. She was holding him just as tightly.

“Oh Mykes, thank God you’re alive, we thought you lost to the sea!”

“Pete! You’re okay right? You look okay, they didn’t hurt you…”

“Where have you been, we thought you were dead! Where is the rest of the crew…”

“ _Alright!_ That’s enough of that.” Artie, it appeared, had not changed one bit in Myka’s absence. It made her smile, giddy with relief.

Except for their clothes being rumpled and dirty and having a rather unwashed aroma around them, the two Agents looked none the worse for wear and Myka felt a huge weight lift off her chest; one she had carried for so long she had ceased even being aware of it.

Their celebrations, however, were cut short as Artie all but stormed out of the cell.

“Where is he? Where is MacPherson? Do you have him in custody yet?”

“MacPherson?” Myka queried, the name only vaguely familiar. “Wasn’t that…”

“Yeah, Artie’s old partner. Kinda went round the bend and decided he’d rather just sell Artifacts and make himself piles of money,” Pete muttered darkly. “He’s the one running this little circus.”

“Well, isn’t this the day for former Warehouse Agents,” Myka replied dryly.

“What?” Artie asked sharply, then shook his head. “Never mind. Where is Mrs. Frederic, MacPherson needs to be handled carefully.”

“Uh. Mrs. Frederic isn’t exactly here, Artie.” Myka offered.

In return she was witness to another of her captain’s wild gesticulations and his voice went up at least an octave.

“What do you mean she’s not here? Who is commanding this mission?”

“Well….” Myka decided that perhaps now was not precisely the best time for the whole truth. “Me.”

Artie’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

“Then we have to get out of here. We need to find MacPherson! He cannot be allowed to get away!” And with that, Artie darted – with a shocking amount of dexterity given his rather round form – past Myka and Pete and ran back down the hall toward the stairs.

Blinking, Myka and her partner just looked at each other. “After you,” Pete said.

Myka grinned, mock-bowed, and together they ran after their Captain.

* * *

The chaos had not lessened much in the moments spent freeing Pete and Artie, though casting an eye over the fighting, Myka felt a fierce surge of pride at the number of downed enemy soldiers. Wells’ crew were clearly gaining the upper hand. A fact even the defenders were apparently realizing as here and there, Myka saw men throwing down their weapons and surrendering. Even Artie seemed to be taken aback by the sight that greeted them when the three Agents made it to the top of the stairs.

The stunning effect was momentary, however, and Nielsen quickly reached down and grabbed the sword from the guard Myka had killed, motioning for Pete and Myka to follow. “We need to get to MacPherson’s office. If he hasn’t escaped yet, we might get lucky. He could be trapped there.” And with that, Artie took off at an angle that set him skirting the edge of the fighting and toward the back of the mansion. Pete followed suit, pulling a knife from another dead man’s chest and stealing his rapier. Myka, already armed, nonetheless stooped to snag an unfired pistol.

The group was nearly through the main hall when a squeal cut across the din and a red blur nearly tackled Pete.

“Pete Artie oh my god you’re okay we’re so glad you’re okay I missed you so much!” Claudia really did have a knack for talking without breathing.

Pete spun Claudia around, both of them laughing until Artie’s angry motions forced him to put her  down. “Yes, yes, we’re glad to see you too, now come on!”

Claudia raised one eyebrow and looked at Myka as the group jogged off after their Captain. “Well he sure hasn’t changed.”

Myka could only snort in agreement.

Dodging individual fighters here and there, Myka recognized Wells’ crew, instinctively counting faces as they made their way toward what appeared to be the kitchen and servants' areas. She saw Hawk and Sarah forming an effective and deadly team, Jinx and Katherine with their backs to each other and several others in similar positions. It wasn’t until Artie turned sharply and started clambering up a small, almost hidden staircase that the Agent realized she had not seen Helena in the fray. Pausing for a moment, Myka let Pete and Claudia rush up after Artie, torn between her duty and the desire to just make sure Helena was alright…

A commotion behind her whirled the Agent around, her sabre at the ready. Myka could only watch in surprise as two of the grey-uniformed defenders stumbled backward through a door that appeared to lead to the kitchen. Chasing after them was none other than Wells herself. Helena  looked utterly wild, her teeth bared in a vicious smile and though Myka could see a slash in the black fabric of Helena's sleeve and a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth, she looked otherwise fine. More than fine as with a gleaming satisfaction in her dark eyes, Helena dispatched the first of her opponents and then kicked the other in the head, knocking him out cold.

“Agent Bering!” Helena smiled broadly. “I was just cleaning the kitchen. Did I hear the dulcet tones of your Captain Arthur?”

Myka could only nod, unable to stop herself from returning Wells’ smile. “Yes, Artie and Pete are fine. Artie’s after Macpherson.”

“Well then by all means, let’s go!” Helena gestured and Myka wasted no time, turning and running up the stairs after Artie, her heart and feet suddenly light.

The two women rounded a sharp corner that opened onto a landing and found Artie and Pete trying to batter down a carven oak door while Claudia looked at them with resigned exasperation. The door was clearly not budging.

“Move aside!” Myka called, striding forward and drawing her pistol. She placed the muzzle in the lock and turned away, shielding her face and pulling the trigger. The lock exploded and the door swung open in a cloud of smoke and splinters.

Myka, Artie, Pete, Claudia and Helena burst into a richly appointed office. It was a beautiful space, well lit with oil lamps and a bank of windows behind a mahogany desk. Outside Myka was shocked to discover that the sun was well on its way to rising, the black of night fading to a soft grey and showing the ocean stretched beyond the south-facing windows.

It was the lean, handsome man with greying hair and rich clothes, however, who held everyone’s attention.

James MacPherson, former Warehouse Agent and wanted fugitive, stood behind his desk, clearly interrupted in the last stages of gathering a variety of items into special-made thick canvas bags.

 _Artifacts,_ Myka realized. At the look of it, at least a dozen, and who knew how many more he simply hadn’t had time to collect.

“Ah Arthur. I see the cavalry has, as they say, arrived. I’m sorry we didn’t get to finish our chats old friend, but I doubt it would have done much good. You simply won’t see.”

“Don’t you dare James,” Artie ground out. “This isn’t about me. This is about your betrayal of everything we hold dear.”

Myka edged from behind Artie, taking a very slow step to the right. Perhaps if he could keep his former partner talking…

She suddenly found herself staring at the muzzle of a gun.

“That will be far enough Agent Bering. I must congratulate you on your resourcefulness. Getting Wells on your side…I truly did not see that coming.”

Before anyone could respond to that (and Myka felt H.G. tense behind her) MacPherson tilted his head. “I’m sorry Arthur. It appears we shall be forever at odds.”

And then he pulled the trigger.

The next think Myka knew she was looking at Helena and Claudia’s worried faces and wondering how she’d gotten to the floor and why her shoulder stung.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she assured a panicked looking Claudia, who helped her sit up and then smiled at Wells.

“And that’s H.G. with the save. Again,” Claudia said pointedly.

There was no time to respond though, a yell from Artie pulling everyone’s attention to the window. Or rather, the ledge behind the window where MacPherson, with his bags of stolen Artifacts, was grabbing onto the frame of something out of sight and then jumping off the railing.

Except he wasn’t jumping at all.

“Oh you have _got_ to be joking,” Pete groaned as he and Artie skidded to a stop at the edge of the railing MacPherson had just leapt from.

Myka had to echo the sentiments as she watched the former Warehouse agent gliding away over the rooftops of the neighboring houses, standing in the frame of what could only be called a ‘contraption.’ And even worse, looking out to sea, she saw a familiar outline on the water beyond the harbor.

“Is that…” Claudia pointed at the ship.

Myka only barely resisted smacking her forehead. “That damned frigate. So it was MacPherson the entire time.”

Tilting her head, Claudia was considering the dwindling form of the rogue agent.

“So that thing he had was…”

“One of Leonardo DaVinci’s flying machines.”

“Wait, I thought none of those actually worked?” Claudia asked.

“No, no, they worked, they were just terribly unreliable and…” Artie shook his head. “It doesn’t _matter._ What matters is that MacPherson got away. Again!At least this time the Regents have to take me seriously. They will have to see what a threat he is and then…”

But what would come next none of the people in the room would find out for at that moment, Artie realized that MacPherson wasn’t the only former Warehouse Agent who had been present.

“ _You!”_ He pointed at Helena, who was standing rather stiffly near the door, attempting to tie a makeshift bandage around the sword cut on her upper arm with one hand and her teeth.

Helena looked up, her expression sliding from curiosity to utterly impassivity in the space of a heartbeat.

“What is _she_ doing here?” Artie snarled. His tone was so vehement that even Pete actually backed up a step.

Helena’s eyes glittered dangerously, but it was Myka who stepped forward, instinctively standing between Helena and her commanding officer.

“Artie it’s okay, H.G. has been helping us - Claudia and I. She rescued me and it is her crew down there that made it possible for me to free you.”

Nielsen, however, was clearly not buying the Agent’s explanation. Resembling nothing so much as a small dog with its hackles up, the Warehouse Captain took a menacing step forward, his eyes fixed on Wells.

“Oh so that’s the game is it? You use my Agents so you can keep track of our investigation and then what? Warn MacPherson? Help him escape? What are you playing at, Wells?”

The Privateer could have been carved from marble. Only her dark eyes blazed as she replied with perfect civility.

“I assure you Captain, I have had no dealings with MacPherson.” A cynical expression tugged at her lips. “Though I am quite sure you won’t believe me, there _is_ more than one reason to leave the employ of your precious Warehouse.”

Arthur snorted in mingled disgust and disbelief. “Oh right. You just had an attack of conscience and decided to sail off on your own to get filthy rich. How _noble_ ,” he sneered.

Helena’s reply was clearly going to be blistering but Myka turned, placing her hand on the Helena’s arm. Nothing more, yet the soft touch brought Wells up short and she took a breath and relaxed somewhat. Unfortunately, Artie was on a roll.

“Pete, go back to the cells and get some of the manacles. I’m placing you under arrest, Wells, and taking you back to the Warehouse.”

Myka’s eyes grew wide and fear shot through her like a current at Helena’s expression. The last thing she wanted was a confrontation between the two captains. Myka's protest died forgotten, however, as an older woman with dark skin, a very complicated hairdo and an impenetrable aura of command walked through the shattered door.

“That will not be necessary Arthur. Ms. Wells’ actions are not under suspicion at the moment.” Commodore Frederic did not appear to notice the charged atmosphere of the office as she swept in. Nor was she alone, behind her strode a group of soldiers in the uniform of the Royal Navy and in their midst…

* * *

“The Regents?” Artie asked, pushing his glasses up his nose as if not quite able to believe what he was seeing. He wasn’t the only one who was struggling to comprehend that _four_ of the mysterious people whose connection with the Warehouse Helena stilldidn’t understand had convened in one place and were even now looking around the office as if expecting MacPherson to still be there.

After that, matters became quite confused. The room filled very quickly with guards, and Helena found herself pushed aside. The volume rose significantly as well. Artie was haranguing one of the Regents – a balding man Wells remembered was called Valda – while Mrs. Frederic alternated between trying to calm him down and field the questions of the Regents themselves. One of them – a blonde woman Wells was unfamiliar with – pulled Myka and Pete aside and immediately began questioning them.

No one seemed particularly interested in Helena and she found herself standing near the door, suddenly very redundant in the little tableau being played out in a rogue Agent’s former office. Helena could have laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Apparently the Regent’s policy of pretending that she did not exist extended, quite literally, to her very presence.

 _So, once again, I have done all that they could have asked from an Agent and more, and they will simply ignore me. So be it,_ she mused bitterly. With a final tug of her teeth, she managed to secure the bandage around her arm, ignoring the sting of the wound. It would likely need stitches. _And will most likely scar,_ she thought darkly.

Shaking her head Wells realized what was happening and pushed the melancholy away. It was a weakness she could not afford. Across the room, Myka was deep in discussion with the blonde Regent. She did not turn toward Helena.

 _Oh Katherine you were right_. In truth, though, Helena had long known this moment was approaching. _I just didn’t realize it would come so damned swiftly._ Still, she could recognize the need for retreat when it was staring her in the face. _There is nothing for you here anymore Helena._ Her words to herself were harsh, yet it took far, far too much effort to tear her eyes away from Myka’s elegant profile and force her body to make the simple movements needed to place one foot in front of the other and walk out the door. In a turn of events that suddenly felt very convenient, Helena had taken a deep slash to her thigh. It was not life threatening, but the burning pain flared in her leg with each step. Helena clung to that pain, embracing it, letting the fire cleanse her mind until her surroundings blurred into the background.

That her sight blurred as well was a fact Wells simply chose to ignore.

Concentrating on moving as steadily as possible, Helena walked slowly out of MacPherson’s office.

She did not see the unfathomable eyes of Mrs. Frederic following her.

* * *

It did not take long for the pain in Wells’ leg to become something she no longer needed to embrace and instead had to struggle to keep from overwhelming her. Seeing more Royal Navy guards on the back stair, she walked carefully along the landing and paused at the top of the great staircase that descended to the ballroom. It was impressive really, how much damage her crew and Ms. Donovan had managed to wreak upon MacPherson’s mansion. Seen in the brightening day, the ruins of the entry way and the gates beyond were even more vivid. Below her, men in the blue coats of the Navy had taken over guarding those defenders who had the sense to surrender, and laying out the bodies of those who had not. Outside she could see more royal officers dealing with the local constabulary that must have responded to the ruckus they were making. Her own people were grouped loosely near what had been the front door, keeping one eye on their surroundings and the other on the sailors. Helena was relieved to see that most everyone was at least sitting under their own power, even if many of her people looked exhausted and were sporting wounds. At least from a distance no one appeared in immediate danger of not returning to the ship.

Squaring her shoulders and blinking away the stinging in her eyes, Helena clenched her hand around her katana’s hilt where it protruded from her belt, and began to descend the stairs. As her crew caught sight of her, whispers passed and gradually, sometimes with the help of others, every single one of them stood and managed to come to attention.

Helena could feel the eyes of the entire Naval contingent on her as she made her way slowly across the marble floors. Gritting her teeth she forced herself to walk perfectly evenly, refusing to show any sign of weakness.

Still several yards from where Jinx was standing at the head of her crew, Wells heard a gasp of surprise and turned her head to see Captain Holden of the _Steadfast_ staring at her. Already anticipating another scene like the one with Arthur, Helena's hackles rose. She would be damned if this man who left members of his own crew to drown (that Myka was not technicallya member of Holden’s crew had no place in Wells’ moment of righteous moment of indignation) would waylay her.

Helena was spared such a confrontation, however.

As Holden moved toward her, his hand on his sword and a thunderous expression on his face, a voice rang from the top of the stairs.

“At ease Mr. Holden. Captain Wells is free to go.”

Unable to resist, Wells turned carefully and looked at where Mrs. Frederic stood at the top of the grand staircase. Backed by marble walls and standing on the red carpet, she looked like royalty, and held herself as such.

Holden backed away, momentarily confused.

Helena stared at the imposing woman for a long moment, but she could not read the Commodore’s expression. As always, she was a cypher - one Helena was too damned tired to attempt to figure out. Instead of her usual mocking salute, Wells just nodded, turning carefully and striding to her crew, head held high.

“Mr. Jinx.”

“Captain.”

“Are all present and accounted for?”

“Yes sir,” her first mate snapped back in clipped tones.

Helena nodded sharply. “Very well. All hands return to the ship.”

Jinx saluted with a military precision Helena had no idea he’d possessed and spun on his heel. “Crew of the _Time Machine…_ Fall out!”He barked. And bless them, but they did just that. As if choreographed, every single member of Wells’ crew executed a perfect about-face and began to march - rather slowly in deference to the wounded - out the door.

Wells could feel the shocked stares on her back, and in a moment of wickedness, she snapped to attention herself, turned on her heel, gave the Commodore a razor sharp salute, then spun about once more and marched after her crew.

The façade lasted till they were down the street and out of sight of the house. Helena’s leg nearly gave out and she swore and the curse was a signal for her crew to return to their usual more pragmatic state. The injured leaned on their comrades (or in a few cases were simply picked up and carried) and they shuffled along as best as possible.

Jinx quickly moved to his Captain’s side but she waved him off. “I’m fine, Steven,” she said quietly, thanking him without words.

Jinx nodded, understanding. “Orders Captain?”

“Get the wounded taken care of and set sail. I want Venice to our stern as swiftly as possible. And Mr. Jinx?”

“Yes sir?”

“Make sure to get rid of that god damned figurehead.”

Jinx grinned wearily. “Aye sir. It will be my pleasure.”

* * *

The sun was climbing toward its apex up by the time the _Time Machine’s_ crew stumbled wearily onto her decks, tossed off her moorings and set the sails to make their way slowly out of the harbor. There was a stiff breeze coming off the sea and it was enough to carry the ship out of port without assistance of oars. The docks were already crowded and no one gave a second glance to another would-be merchant ship leaving for open waters.

Helena saw no sign of the French frigate.

Katherine and her assistants moved among the crew, passing out clean water, soap, alcohol and bandages. Those crew with minor wounds were tending themselves while others waited for the doctor’s care and Helena sent a silent prayer of thanks she had lost no one this time.

Once her ship was past the breakwaters, Helena ordered only the mainsail dropped and a southerly course set. “We make for the horn of Italy. I want to head for open ocean,” she told her current helmsman, a plucky English lad called Paris.

“And Mr. Jinx,” she called loudly enough that the crew understood she was addressing them as well. “Would I be correct in assuming that several caskets of that very fine brandy we brought to trade are, in fact, still on board somewhere?”

Jinx pretended to consider. “I do believe there is a possibility of such a thing, yes Captain.”

“Well and good. Have them brought up and broached. I for one, plan to get drunk.”

The cheers of her people were weary, but heartfelt.

* * *

Hours later, the _Time Machine_ was at least on her way back to her former state. The tacky figurehead had been quite literally hacked from the bow and the extra boxes and general garbage that had cluttered her deck had either been stowed properly or simply thrown overboard to provide a new home for some ocean dwelling creature.

They sailed south until nearly midday and then dropped sea-anchor barely within sight of the eastern coast of Italy. It was a beautiful day, the sky an endless, pure turquoise scattered with fluffy white clouds.

The wounded were tended, the ship as squared away as she would get until they could dock somewhere and Helena was sitting in her cabin, boots off, a bandage around her thigh and a mug of brandy in her hand.

The sound of her door opening signaled Katherine’s arrival. Helena said nothing, merely poured another mug and placed it across her desk for the exhausted physician. James sat heavily and brought the mug to her lips, saluting Wells before downing half the amber liquid in one gulp.

Helena, who understood the urge all too well, merely waited.

After another healthy swallow, Katherine slumped in the chair and sighed. “The crew is fine. Mostly minor wounds. Sarah has a badly sprained ankle and Shawn broke an arm, and I’ve lost count of how many stitches I’ve placed today, but you have damned skilled people and you should be proud of them Captain.”

Wells looked at her old friend. Even as tired as she clearly was, Katherine looked remarkably put together. She had found time to wash the soot from her hands and face and her hair was secured in its usual tidy braid. Had Helena any energy to spare she might have found the other woman’s grace irritating. Now she just marveled at it.

“I know,” was the Captain’s quiet reply.

“And their Captain?” James’ voice was soft.

Helena stared at her brandy, gently swirling the heady liquid. “I’m fine Katherine.” With a sigh, Wells leaned back in her own chair and let her head drop back. “I just wish you hadn’t been right.”

James did not ask about what. Myka and Claudia were gone. The answer was obvious.

“I didn’t want to be,” the physician said gently, empathy in her tone.

Wells shrugged one shoulder. “What is done is done.”

Katherine was a very good friend and a wise woman and so did _not_ point out the utter fallacy of Helena’s words.

“So what now?” She asked instead, tactfully changing the subject.

Wells raised her mug and levered herself up, grabbing the jug of brandy and pouring another measure for herself. “Now I get exceedingly intoxicated and let the crew do the same, and tomorrow we nurse our hangovers and head for a friendly port. Perhaps Olhão. Alfonso owes us and if nothing else, it’s a quiet place for some respite. We also need intelligence and in all honesty, I think tis time to hunt something ordinary: Like treasure or a troublesome pirate ship. To hell with chasing ghosts.”

The two women raised their mugs in silent salute and then Helena set about doing exactly what she’d promised and got very, very drunk. Katherine shared one more drink and then went to find her own bunk, leaving her friend to try and forget alone.

Outside, the crew also celebrated. Few, however, drank to excess. Unlike conscripted sailors, the crew of the _Time Machine_ knew that celebrations and rewards came, if irregularly, then not infrequently. The drinking continued all day, but it did not interfere with setting watches and tending to the injured.

The sun was beginning to lower itself from the sky when Helena stumbled into bed, not bothering to do more than change into a clean shirt. The room spun around her and she was asleep nearly as soon as her head hit the pillow.

For a miracle, that sleep was dreamless.


	15. Chapter 15

Over a week passed since the sun rose over Venice to find MacPherson escaped, the Regents converging on the wreckage of his former headquarters, and the _Time Machine_ slipping out of the harbor, taking H.G. Wells and her crew away. A week where Myka drifted along, feeling as if she were merely going through the motions of life. Her sleep at night was restless and uneasy and during the day she felt at turns exhausted and then so full of pent-up energy she thought she might explode with it.

With Pete and Artie back and news that the _Artifact Hunter II_ would meet them upon return to London, Myka should have been overjoyed. Instead, she just felt…strange. Things she had once taken for granted now seemed new and unfamiliar. It was odd to be on dry land again, sleeping in a real bed, her uniform jacket with its collar and braid felt heavy and confining and people stopping to salute her or calling her ‘sir’ just seemed out of place.

 _Be honest, Bering. ‘Tis not everything else that is out of place. It’s you._ The uniforms and saluting and standing on ceremony were still familiar, but distantly, as if she had heard about them from someone else and Myka herself was a different person, an imposter in a uniform. With little to do but wait on the Regent’s questions, the Officer often found her mind wandering away from her, thoughts settling on Helena and what the crew of the _Time Machine_ might be doing at that moment. Usually those thoughts were just a jumble of impressions or memories – Sarah in the crow’s nest or Helena’s face as they sparred. But sometimes, usually at dusk, Myka could picture it easily, like tonight, when most of them would be dining, the watch changing, lanterns being lit and sails set for the night. Helena would be at the helm, feet in her shining black boots braced and raven hair whipping in the breeze…

The snapping of fingers in front of her face brought Myka back to the present with a jolt. Wherever the _Time Machine_ had gone, it was far away from here: Here being the temporary mess hall the Regents had ordered set up while Warehouse personnel investigated what was left of MacPherson’s headquarters. Myka was sitting at a long wooden table in the spacious kitchen eating lunch with Pete. Or rather, she was pushing her food around her plate and woolgathering while Pete shoveled potatoes and roast beef into his mouth. They were not alone, but none of the soldiers eating at the other tables paid them any attention. Pete and Myka were officers. The others were merely common crewman. They kept their distance.

The situation made Myka miss the occasional raucous meal with the _Time Machine’s_ crew, or even better, a quiet supper with wine in Helena’s cabin.

The fingers snapped in front of her face again. “Earth to Myka? Where do you keep going?”

Mykes just shook her head, forcing herself to concentrate on her partner. “Sorry Pete, just thinking.”

“Come on Mykes, you’re not even eating," he said plaintively.

The hard lump rising in her throat forced Myka to look down at her food again and she aimlessly pushed the plate and its already rather battered contents toward her partner. “Here. I’m not hungry. You go ahead.”

Pete blinked, but, never one to give up food, took the plate and began making inroads on it. The sight made Myka smile half-heartedly. Though truly none the worse for his time as prisoner, Pete acted as if he had been starved to within an inch of his life and was intent on making up for lost time, or so he claimed.

“Hey, Myka, seriously. What’s the matter?” Pete actually put down his fork and looked at his partner. The true sign of friendship. It made Myka smile just a little bit more. The expression was short-lived, however, since it was impossible to explain to her dearest friend what she was feeling when she hadn’t even truly admitted to herself that she felt it.

“It’s nothing darling.” The endearment slipped from her lips without thought but it brought Myka up like a slap in the face. Pete too, looked stunned as it was something Myka would normally neverhave called him except in mocking.

Biting her lip against the surge of sadness and frustration, she waved him off. “I’m sorry Pete, it’s nothing. Truly. It just feels odd to be back is all. There were times the Warehouse seemed so very far away, and I worried we might never see you and Artie again.”

Now her partner’s face softened. “But we _are_ safe Mykes. And we’re fine. Well, Artie is so hopping mad that MacPherson got away there is probably steam coming out his ears, but he’s all right. Take the victory will you? We destroyed MacPherson’s headquarters and probably gained some valuable intelligence on his next move.”

Myka refrained from mentioning that it had been Helena and her crew that had truly been responsible for most of the destruction of the rogue agent’s headquarters and the capture of his men. That was a battle not worth joining. Still, Pete was trying and so could she. Straightening, she re-buttoned her coat.

“You’re right, as usual. It will pass. No matter, I have a meeting with the Regents in a moment, I should be going.”

Lattimer nodded. “I’ll be right hmpfh mphm ooo.” He said around a mouthful of potatoes. Myka translated that easily as “I’ll be right behind you,” and was pleased to learn she was at least still fluent in Pete.

* * *

Walking up the stairs to the top floor, Myka tugged one last time at her coat and settled her sabre at her hip. She paused just before the landing outside the carved oak doors that led to MacPherson’s old office. Taking a breath, the Officer turned the corner and was surprised at the sight of Claudia standing at attention outside the room. Upon seeing her friend, the Midshipman relaxed her rigid stance and shot Myka a weary smile. It was clear Claudia had been expecting another officer and it struck Myka in that moment that she was not the only one having a difficult time re-adjusting to life within the staid military hierarchy of the Navy. Claudia too, was once again in full uniform and the dark blue coat did not appear to fit her any better than it did Myka.

Looking around to make sure they were alone, Myka walked forward to stand next to her friend, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey Claud. How are you doing?”

Shrugging, Claudia replied, “Oh well enough.”

Myka merely looked at her steadily and Claudia’s face fell. “I miss them,” she finally admitted quietly.

Myka had no real response so instead she simply wrapped her friend in a quick hug, which was returned tightly. The sound of footsteps approaching on the other side of the door forced them back, however, and Claudia sprang to attention, her expression empty as the door opened.

“Ah, Lieutenant-Commander, excellent. Come in.”

The Regents had taken over the office for their own, repairing the damage done to the door by Myka’s pistol and using it as a combination meeting place and wardroom. The great mahogany desk now occupied the left side of the room and was piled with papers, charts, books and other paraphernalia. Several more chairs had also been brought in and now joined the original leather monstrosities in a rough circle atop the rich Persian rug. At the moment, the four Regents that had accompanied the expedition and Commodore Frederic occupied those chairs. To her left, a young man Myka recognized as one of the Regent’s assistants sat bent over a sheaf of paper, scribbling notes. To her right, Artie and Captain Holden from the _Steadfast_ stood at ease and Myka had to work to suppress the feeling of distaste at the sight of the other man. She still had not quite forgiven him for giving her up as lost after the destruction of the _Artifact Hunter_.

_Then again, if he hadn’t, I never would have met Helena…_

One of the Regents – the sharp eyed man she recognized as Mr. Valda – rose at that moment, forcing Myka's attention back to the proceedings.

She stood rigidly at attention until he approached and held out his hand. “At ease Lieutenant-Commander. Or perhaps I should say Commander. Commodore Frederic has suggested, and the Regents have agreed that you are long overdue a promotion. Congratulations Agent Bering,” he said as he took her hand and shook it.

A bit stunned at the suddenness of the proceedings Myka barely managed a “Thank you, sir.”

Valda and the rest of the Regents clearly had other matters on their minds, however, and the short man waved off her thanks. “Yes, we regret the lack of ceremony, but I am sure you can agree time is of the essence here. Your rank has been entered into record and all other necessary matters attended to. We must turn now to more pressing matters.”

Myka, sensing her input was not desired at the moment, stayed silent.

“Agent Bering you were in the company of the former Warehouse Agent H.G. Wells for over two months. Please describe her ship and crew complement.”

Myka blinked, put even further off balance by the sudden change in topic.

“I’m sorry, sir?” She queried, trying to gain a moment to collect her thoughts. She risked a glance over at her captain, but Artie’s face was shuttered, his expression grim. Well, grimmer than usual.

A sense of dread crept like a frost into Myka’s heart.

“Her crew complement, Commander. How many men and women does she have aboard her ship? What is the _Time Machine’s_ weapon’s capability? How well are her people trained? How many Artifacts does she have at her disposal and what are their natures?”

It was Valda that was speaking, but all the Regents were watching her like birds of prey with a rabbit in their sight. The assistant was scribbling madly and out of the corner of her eye, Myka saw Captain Holden’s face take on a moue of distaste.

Swallowing and trying desperately to control her racing mind, Myka looked at the group of mysterious men and women before her. Even the Commodore, who Myka had always occasioned to like, was watching her with an unreadable expression. Though in Mrs. Frederic’s case, that was not particularly unusual.

“Commander Bering, please answer the questions.”

“I am sorry sir, but do you mean to suggest that Captain Wells is a threat to the Warehouse?”

Valda looked at her like a child who had just asked a question with a particularly obvious answer.

“Of course she is a threat to the Warehouse, Agent Bering. What we are trying to determine is the extent of that threat.”

Myka’s mouth was open before her training and common sense could stop her. “Sir, forgive me, but I don't believe Captain Wells presents a danger to us.”

Valda merely made a dismissive gesture and rose to pace the floor between the chairs and where Myka stood, his hands clasped behind his back. “That determination is not up to you, Commander. Now please, answer the questions.”

The officer, however, found herself unable to do so. Her tongue seemed lodged in her mouth and her throat had closed. If it hadn’t been for the emotions swirling like a maelstrom in her breast, Myka might have entertained the possibility she was under the influence of an Artifact.

The Regent misinterpreted her silence. Quirking an eyebrow as he walked past, he spoke again.

“Be at ease Agent Bering, this group has no intention of delving into any…uncomfortable actions…you might need to have taken to remain aboard Wells’ ship. Indeed, we commend you for your resourcefulness and dedication to your mission.”

It was utterly the wrong thing to say.

Valda’s words and sneering tone rang in Myka’s head like a great bell, drowning out everything but a rising tide of rage.

She was moving almost before he finished speaking and in the stunned silence of the room, the sound of her fist impacting the Regent’s jaw was incredibly loud.

Valda’s head snapped back and he overbalanced, taking two stumbling steps and then measuring his length against the carpet. All eyes in the room were locked on Myka as she took a menacing step forward. Even the scribe in the corner was staring at her open mouthed, his quill dangling from ink-stained fingers.

“How _dare_ you,” she ground out. At her side, her fist clenched so hard her arm shook and she longed to strike the downed man again.

“How dare anyof you.” She spun and stared at the other occupants of the chairs.

“Captain Wells acted during our entire acquaintance with nothing but the utmost propriety. She saved my lifewhen Captain Holden would have left me to drown,” and now Myka indulged in a withering glare at the man in question, barely registering his face drain of all color before turning back to the Regents who were still frozen wide-eyed in their chairs.

“If it were not for the heroic actions of the Captain and her crew, _you_ would not have MacPherson’s headquarters. Indeed, you would likely still be chasing your own tails trying to guess who might be behind all this. And now, after risking her ship and the lives of herself and her crew for the Warehouse, you have the audacity to sit here and imply such… _lewd_ things about her character and my own!” Myka nearly snarled.

Forcing herself to breathe, she took a step back and looked at the people the in the room – reallylooked at them. What she saw made her suddenly understand.

“You’re afraid of MacPherson. You’re afraid of what he might do and you’re looking for a way to use Wells against him.” Myka shook her head in disgust. “Helena was right. She’s nothing but a tool to be used and discarded at will to you, isn’t she?”

Their silence was all the answer Myka needed.

“Well,” she said, propping her hands on her hips and looking around again, finally letting out a deep breath. “In that case, ma’ams, sirs, you can take that promotion and shove it, as the commoners say _, up your ass_. I hereby resign my commission as an Agent of the Warehouse.”

Pivoting on her heel, Myka was brought up by the voice of Mrs. Frederic. The Commodore had that same inscrutable expression on her handsome features, but Myka was beyond trying to decipher it.

“And just where do you think you will go, Ms. Bering? Your father’s estates were sold long ago. Your home has always been with the Warehouse.”

If it was meant to be a warning, it failed utterly in its purpose. For the first time all day, Myka trulysmiled, and the expression was downright wicked. “I’m going to go find the woman that I do believe I’ve fallen in love with and ask her if she needs another deckhand.”

The admission was like a huge weigh lifted from her chest and for the first time in weeks, perhaps the first time since she had run from Helena’s touch after waking up next to the other woman, Myka could breathe.It made her laugh as she turned once more and strode out the room, slamming the heavy oak door behind her with a childish glee.

She nearly walked right into Claudia, who looked like she was about to cheer, and Pete, who looked like someone had just whacked him over the head with a board.

“Mykes, what…?” Pete trailed off and the (now) former Warehouse agent softened.

“I’m sorry Pete. It isn’t that I didn’t want to tell you, it’s merely that…”

“It’s that she was being stupid and noble and trying to pretend she didn’t have all these feelings for H.G.” Claudia piped up, nearly bouncing to Myka and hugging her fiercely. “Oh my goodness, Mykes, what are you going to do now?”

Myka smiled wryly. “Just what I said I’d do. Try to find Helena.”

“Myka, are you sure about this?” Pete’s voice was soft.

“Oh Pete,” she sighed. “Honestly… no, I am not sure. But I have a really good feeling.” She watched as her dear friend's face slowly split into a grin and he nodded.

“Alright then. Go, and be safe. And try to stay in touch. You and H.G. Wells…we’ll follow up on _that_ later.” At Myka’s mock glare he just laughed and shoved her gently in the direction of the stairs. “Go, I’ll keep these idiots from following you too closely.”

On the other side of the door, the occupants were apparently finding their voices and someone – it sounded like Artie – was yelling. Knowing she was running out of time, Myka leapt forward and wrapped her arms around Pete.

“I love you Pete Lattimer. You were the brother I never had. Don’t ever forget it.”

His arms squeezed her hard. “Yeah alright, I love you too Mykes. Now _go!”_

And without another word, she did. Myka was halfway down the stairs heading to the stables when she heard rushing footsteps behind her. Turning, she watched as Claudia nearly fell down the stone steps trying to catch up.

“What?” The redhead asked. “You didn’t think I was going to miss this did you? Come _on_ Myka. H.G. lets me blow things up! Blow. Things. Up. No _way_ am I not getting in on that action.”

Myka’s laughter carried them through the kitchen and out to the courtyard.

Commander Bering’s last act as a member of His Majesty’s Navy was to commandeer several travel packs, a hefty purse of coin and four horses from the quartermaster who had not yet heard she was in disgrace.

A commotion was just rising behind them as Myka and Claudia swung into the saddle and set spur to their mount’s sides. With the clatter of shod hooves on cobblestones, the two fugitives galloped out of the yard and turned north through the city.

* * *

Once out of Venice proper, Myka eased up, letting the horses walk. She took off her uniform coat and turned to where Claudia was doing the same.

“We have enough supplies for a week, a bit longer if we’re careful, but we need to get rid of these uniforms. I want to stay away from towns if we can. We’ll buy some provisions then hunt when we can.”

Claudia nodded. “Do we have a direction?”

“West and south to Monaco, I want to avoid the edge of the Alps. Then see if we can book passage in Toulon or Marseille to Barcelona.”

“Why Barcelona?”

Myka shrugged. “It’s a major port and Helena mentioned she enjoyed it. I am hoping she will stop and resupply at some point. If not…” trailing off, Myka looked soberly at her friend. “Claudia I don’t have any illusions. This may be a long journey. Helena isn’t known for being easy to find at the best of times and now?” She left the rest unspoken, but the younger woman nodded.

Her face equally solemn, Claudia replied. “I know Myka. And I thought it through. I love Pete too, and Artie when he’s not being… Artie. But I miss the _Time Machine._ I miss H.G. and Jinxy and Katherine and getting to inventthings. I miss being respected by the whole crew and not just you and Pete and Leena. I don’t care how long it takes. I’m in.”

A slow grin pulled at Myka’s lips. “Very well then, my fellow fugitive, we ride west!”

And laughing, they did just that.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty horses. Because I can. Apologies if I butcher European geography, I did try to Google earth some things but this is also a fic where women can serve in the Royal Navy and Artifacts are a thing so I really hope you haven't gotten this far expecting historical realism.

There was no word of the _Time Machine_ in Toulon, nor in Barcelona where they traded their four road weary horses for two fresh saddle animals of Spanish blood. With arched necks and graceful paces, they also were of hardier breeding, able to go longer distances than the horses Myka and Claudia had ‘appropriated.’ It would also cost less to take only one animal apiece. Myka chose a dapple grey mare just fading to pure white and Claudia settled on a blood bay with a kind eye.

After searching the docks and asking around, Claudia and Myka gained no word of the _Time Machine._ If Wells was sailing this way, she had not come to port in Barcelona. Myka felt a moment of disappointment, but in truth she was not surprised.

“So, onward?” Claudia asked.

“Onward.” Myka agreed, checking the saddle bags one more time before turning and leading her horse down the wharf.

The two women bartered passage on a merchant vessel with plans to stop at most ports along the coast. While the going was slow, it would give them a chance to ask at each port if there had been word of Helena and her crew. Without revealing their true identities, Myka and Claudia traded their skills as deck hands for free passage for themselves and a good rate for the horses. The Captain was a taciturn older man who asked no questions and was appreciative of their help. It was a dull voyage, but Myka was not unhappy. No one was going to be looking for two AWOL Naval Officers on a non-descript merchant vessel.

As the days turned into weeks, however, she became increasingly frustrated at the lack of news of the _Time Machine._ Fall was settling in and Myka suspected that Helena would go to ground somewhere during the winter. She'd spoken of the habit on more than one occasion. Looking back, Myka wished she’d thought to ask Helena _where._

When their ship docked at Cadiz, Captain Ruiz informed the women he was going no further north. It was time to disembark.

“Do you think she’s gone back to Olhão?” Claudia asked as they walked their horses through town, trying to get their land legs back again.

Myka nodded. “And if not, Alfonso may well know how to find her.”

Claudia quirked an eyebrow. Myka smiled dryly. “Not my first choice of an informant, but I’m hoping he won’t hold our past meeting against me.”

“Worth trying I suppose,” Claudia replied. “Are we going to try and book passage on another ship?”

Myka shook her head. “No, we might as well ride. I highly doubt anyone is looking for us here, and even if they were, we don’t particularly resemble renegade Naval Officers.” Myka’s tone was wry. Captain Ruiz’s merchant vessel and crew had not been subjected to the same standards of cleanliness Myka was accustomed to from the Navy, or the _Time Machine._

Claudia’s agreement was muttered under her breath and Myka caught enough of it not to need the sentiment repeated.

* * *

Three days later they arrived in Olhão.

The first thing Myka did was seek out an inn and use the last of their coin to book a room. The second thing she and Claudia did was to find one of the old public baths left over from the Roman era and still maintained in some cities across the continent. After a thorough scrubbing of themselves and their clothing and a decent dinner, Myka mounted her horse again and rode to the harbor.

She tried to tell herself that she wasn't truly expecting Wells’ ship to be there. Those silent words, however, did not lessen the sting any when she could not find the familiar silhouette of the _Time Machine_ amongst the other vessels.

Claudia took one look at her face when she returned to the room and sighed. “I’m sorry Mykes.”

Claudia got a half-hearted smile in return before Myka flopped gracelessly on the bed, her arms over her eyes. She was tired; tired of traveling, tired of hoping, tired of not knowing where Helena was. Myka was so sure Helena would come back here, but with failure now came self-doubt.

“’Tis alright Claud. I'll go visit Alfonso later. Perhaps he can shed some light on her whereabouts.”

* * *

That visit too, was a disappointment.

Greeting her in his office above the tavern (Myka’s entry was much less covert this time and she was escorted upstairs by a lean woman with dark skin and darting green eyes and at least three hidden knives), Alfonso was at first highly suspicious of the presence of even a former Warehouse Agent.

Myka was long past playing games however. All she wanted to know was whether there was news of Helena.

The Duke of Thieves stared across his desk at the woman he had once threatened with the knowledge of a price on her head. For the longest moment his face was inscrutable. Myka merely waited. There was nothing else she coulddo.

Alfonso’s eyes suddenly widened and his posture relaxed. Sighing and shaking his head the duke made a subtle gesture and the woman with the knives bowed and left.

“So, it is matters of the heartand not treasure that send you chasing the infamous pirate H.G. Wells.” His words could have been mocking but his voice was gentle and Myka found herself nodding wryly.

“I am sorry señorita. I wish I could help you, truly. By all accounts, Wells has done my people a service. The Rogue are back in Venice and prospering.”

Myka took a second to reflect on the fact that learning thieves and beggars, cutpurses and swindlers were once again taking up residence in a city meant things were _right._ Still, she found she rather liked Alfonso and his obvious delight made her smile gently.

Thanking him, she stood to leave.

Her name stopped her just short of the door.

Alfonso's eyes narrowed in a show of calculation as he stroked his chin. “There may be a chance that I could send word to our good Captain. What would such a chance be worth to you, señorita?”

Myka stared at Alfonso, his handsome features and lively dark eyes. It wasn’t often that she went with her heart and not her head, but now was one of those times.

“Anything. Everything” she replied simply.

Alfonso’s eyes widened in surprise. “You really do love her don’t you?”

There was only one answer to that question and Myka didn't even hesitate. “Yes.”

The Duke of Thieves shook his head in awe. “I never thought I'd see the day.” He drew himself up and walked to stand in front of Myka, holding his hand out. “I will send word. I'm afraid I don't truly have a guarantee it will reach her, but I will offer to try.”

“And what is your price, sir?” Myka asked evenly.

Alfonso flashed a white grin. “No price, at least not in money. I'm a romantic man, and it is not often I see true love staring me in the face from so unlikely a source.”

Myka narrowed her eyes and Alfonso laughed. “And I want to see what H.G. Wells in love looks like. A unholy terror that one. Perhaps you can do the rest of us a favor and civilize her, eh?”

At that Myka had to laugh, taking Alfonso’s hand and returning the firm grip. She didn't trust him, but he was charming she could admit.  “I doubt it sir, but I will offer to _try.” Ea_ sily recognizing his own words being tossed back to him, Alfonso grinned even wider.

“Where are you staying? If I receive word back, I'll notify you.”

Myka told him, and then turned to walk out the door. She paused, however, and looked back at Alfonso one more time.

“Alfonso?” She said softly.

He looked up, raising an eyebrow in query.

“Wells isn’t the only one who doesn’t take kindly to being crossed. Just remember that.” And with a wink, Myka was out the door. Alfonso’s laugh followed her down the hallway.


	17. Chapter 17

After that, Myka and Claudia had little to do but wait. It was a frustratingly familiar occupation and Myka chafed at it. They took to riding their horses out of the town and through the charming Portuguese countryside each day, but when five days had passed with no word, Myka seriously began to consider that she might have to make more permanent arrangements for her and Claudia’s futures. The two women were out of coin and had only three days left at the inn before they would owe more money.

 _And I have no idea where to go next,_ Myka sighed inwardly. It was a beautiful fall evening that she and Claudia rode through but clear sky and soft breeze were utterly lost on the older woman. Beside her, Claudia was quiet and Myka felt a stab of guilt.

Their horses’ hooves sounded their return to the town proper, striking the cobblestones smartly as the women made their way back to the inn.

Turning into the courtyard, Myka dismounted and handed her mare off to the stable-lad. She gave the grey’s nose an absent-minded pat before heading back to the inn, Claudia presumably at her heels.

Claudia, however, was notfollowing. Eventually realizing this, Myka turned to question her friend, only to find the young woman standing in the middle of the courtyard, gazing intently at something over the roof of the stable.

“Hey Mykes, isn’t that…?” Claudia trailed off, pointing.

Two things happened nearly simultaneously then.

Myka followed Claudia’s line of sight and realized the redhead was staring at a massive eagle perched calmly on the thatched roof of the stable. No sooner had she spotted the bird than it fanned its great wings and launched into the air, the powerful rushing of air as it gained flight clearly audible. It circled the courtyard once and then still rising higher, flew west toward the harbor. And just as the bird turned, one of the numerous street urchins Myka had learned served as Alfonso’s network of messengers and spies came skidding into the yard.

“The ship! Is here señora! The ship is here!”

Frozen in shock, Myka looked at Claudia. The girl’s eyes were as wide as her own mostly likely.

“Does he mean?”

“Helena,” Myka breathed. As if the Captain’s name were a signal, she was off like a shot. She burst into the stable, startling the stable-boy who had just finished removing the saddle from her grey and was brushing the mare down. Myka didn’t hesitate. Calling an apology, she untied the reins from the post, spun the horse around and grabbed a chuck of the mare’s thick grey mane. With a twist of her hips Myka swung up and landed on the mare’s back, digging her knees in and spinning the horse on its hocks. The mare, catching her rider’s excitement, bolted forward, eyes rolling as Myka set her head toward the inn’s gate.

She just had time to register Claudia yelling “wait for me!” before the grey got its footing and Myka found herself charging through the streets of Olhão. People scattered like sheep and Myka had cause to be grateful for her mare’s Spanish blood. Turning, weaving and dodging, the mare managed changes of direction and speed that would have sent most horses sprawling.

Back in the stable, Claudia grabbed her horse’s bridle from the wall and yanked open the stall door. “Like hell you’re leaving me,” she muttered and, slipping the bridle over her own mount’s nose, proceeded to follow her friend.

Standing alone in the courtyard, the young stable boy just stared after them.

* * *

Skidding around a last corner, Myka gritted her teeth and held on as she urged the mare down the final gentle slope to the harbor. She just caught sight of the great eagle circling above her and then the last line of buildings was crossed and the mare burst onto the docks.

Sitting back, Myka clamped her knees and brought the grey back to a sliding stop, where she pranced and tossed her head, flinging her mane. Her rider ignored her, too busy frantically scanning the docks.

There! Identification nearly followed the act of giving her mare her head and once again, Myka was galloping. Thistime however, she had a destination. This time she could _see_ the familiar shape of the _Time Machine’s_ masts as the ship docked at one of the far piers. Never, in her entire life, had Myka Bering been so grateful to see one vessel.

Adrenaline surged in her blood like a white hot tide, making her breath harsh and her hands tremble on the reins. She pulled the mare around hard and the horse’s hooves struck the wood planking of the docks just as the _Time Machine’s_ crew finished fastening her moorings.

Approaching fast, Myka could now make out individual faces.

And there at the helm, just like she had imagined her a rather ridiculous number of times, stood Helena.

The ship’s gangplank crashed to the docks and Myka brought her mare into a stiff kneed halt, the horse tossing its mane and half-rearing in protest. Myka didn’t care. She’d found what she was looking for.

* * *

Helena Wells did not sulk. She didn’t. It simply was not in her nature. She had never been the type of woman who was careless with her feelings. Nor could she stand ridiculous outward displays of emotion from others. Life went on and one had to deal with things as they came. It was as simple as that. If there was a guiding principle in Wells’ life, such sentiment might have been it, and she had always chosen to deal with things on her own terms.

Sailing away from Venice, however, she found herself unable to simply put the past few months in a box and lock it away in her memory.

Helena found that nearly as irritating as it was painful.

Still, to the world, she presented the face she always had – the daring Captain, the shrewd Privateer, the wise friend. Even those close to her in her crew would have been hard pressed to say if their Captain’s behavior really differed.

Only Katherine, who had known Helena the longest, and Sarah, whose golden eyes saw so much more than what was on the horizon, could tell just how deeply Commander Bering’s parting had affected their leader.

Sarah held her tongue because she owed Wells her life and didn't feel it was her place to interfere with the Captain's business.

Katherine stayed silent because she knew damned well there was nothing she could say that would make the least bit of difference. The physician had once been in a similar position to her old friend – though the specific circumstances were far different – and she was intimately familiar with the kind of pain no doctor can treat.

So the _Time Machine_ rounded the tip of Italy and sailed north up the coast. In discussion with her crew, Wells confirmed her decision to sail to Olhão.

“We’ll see about setting Wolly and Foster up somewhere and then I want to find a place to winter. The crew needs a rest.” Helena sighed. “ _I_ need a rest.” Sitting in her cabin with Katherine and Jinx, it was the only admission Wells had ever made to hint she was at all affected by what had happened in Venice.

Exchanging a glance, her physician and first mate merely made noises of agreement.

“And next spring?” Jinx asked.

Wells ran her hand through her hair and pondered the charts in front of her, considering. “We haven’t had a run-in with a Spanish gold ship in far too long. What do you say Mr. Jinx?”

The young man grinned, relieved to see the old sparkle in his Captain’s eyes. “I say that sounds like a good time, Captain.”

Helena nodded, straightening and putting her hands on her hips. “Very well, when we get to Olhão we’ll sound out Alfonso. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to help us fleece his former country for a cut of the spoils. Any other suggestions? That will be all then.”

The two crewmembers moved to leave, but Katherine glanced back as she walked out the door. Helena was standing alone at the window, hands clasped behind her back, looking out to sea.

The image made Katherine unaccountably sad.

* * *

The _Time Machine_ was some weeks at sea, taking its time and staying close to shore to avoid bad weather on the open water. Several times Sarah’s gulls warned them of approaching storms and they found refuge in small harbors to weather them. They stopped at small fishing ports and traded for supplies and water; they drilled in combat and cleaned the ship.

The routine was comforting, quiet, resting.

Helena wanted to scream.

The longer they tacked along the coast of France, then Spain, the more Helena found herself wanting something, anything to happen. H.G. Wells was spoiling for a fight and there was no one to give it to her.

So, rather than risk taking her temper out on her crew, she withdrew into herself. So much so that the crew noticed, and began to whisper.

Still days away from Olhão, Helena paid no attention to the gull that circled the ship and landed at the edge of the crow’s nest. The birds came and went frequently these days, company for the ship’s smallest member. Wells finished her watch at the wheel then handed the helm to Paris, retiring to her cabin for the night. She rarely ate with the crew these days, so she was unaware of the news that spread like wildfire amongst her people that night when Sarah came down from the crow’s nest.

Sitting crowded around tables in the mess, there was a hushed discussion and then finally, “what do you think doc, you’ve known her the longest.” It was Jinx who asked and Katherine considered the situation.

“I think we shouldn’t tell her until we’re sure _._ Sarah, that eagle of yours, is he around?”

“Aye.”

James nodded. “Very well. Send him ahead to look for her. I’ll not have Helena’s hopes raised if Alfonso is toying with her.”

There were mutters of agreement.

“As for the rest, we make for port at Olhão anyway. I vote for letting matters play out as they will. She won’t thank us for interfering. Let us just make sure we actually dock.”

There were nods of agreement all around and secretive smiles exchanged among the crew. Hardened, experienced sailors and fighters every one of them, but they were human beings, and fond of their Captain. And though not liking that she had chosen her duty over Wells, they understood and approved of the woman who seemed to have run off with Helena’s heart.

* * *

So stood matters when the _Time Machine_ coasted gently into port on a beautiful, clear evening several days later. Behind the ship, the sun was sinking to the horizon, gilding the stone walls of Olhão as it began to spread its cloak of light on the other side of the world.

Helena stood at the helm, guiding her ship with expert grace into port. Her mind, however, was not wholly engaged in its task. Indeed, it was a common feeling – as if there were simply a part of her was missing. She wasn’t distracted per se, merely…not present.

It was perhaps because of this that it took so long for the commotion on the docks to penetrate her awareness. Long enough for the apparently suicidal rider on the grey horse to come plunging down the length of the wharf and bring the mare to a sliding, head-tossing halt at the foot of the gangplank. For an instant Wells couldn't identify the woman, for she was not wearing the expected navy and cream uniform with its familiar gold braid, but instead a white shirt with laces at the front, tucked into tan breeches and black riding boots.

The moment Helena realized she was staring at a familiar riot of tousled brown hair and emerald flecked eyes was the moment that missing part of her snapped back into place with an almost physical force. The breath rushed from her lungs and she could no longer quite feel her hands on the worn wood of the wheel. Helena wasn't even conscious of moving, so fixed was her gaze on the slender figure now sliding from the back of her horse and running part way up the gangplank before hesitating.

Both women were utterly unaware they had an audience in the crew, who froze where they were, terrified of breaking the tableau playing out before them.

In long strides Helena crossed the deck and leapt onto the plank before she too, paused. The two women stood frozen, an arm’s length apart while their hearts raced in their chests and they both struggled for words and the moment stretched.

* * *

It was Myka who succeeded in finding her voice first. Her eyes locked on Helena’s, the question slipped from her lips as barely a whisper.

“Permission to come aboard?” It wasn’t what she wanted to say, but her heart and her mind were so crowded with images and emotions that it was all her tongue could apparently manage. Helena was staring at her with an expression that said she was having a hard time believing this was all real.

Dark eyes never leaving Myka’s face, she finally spoke, uttering the one word Myka had been dreading even more than ‘no’.

“Why?”

There were so many answers to that question, how could Myka ever choose the right one? It was not even a question of telling the truth. Rather the difficulty lay in understanding the whole of that truth and somehow being able to put it into words, a feat Myka was unsure she was capable of doing in that moment. Not when every cell in her body was crying out at the other woman’s nearness, when her fingers itched to feel Helena’s skin beneath her own again and her lips longed to taste Helena’s mouth.

“Why?” Helena asked again, her voice barely stirring the air between them.

“Because you were right.”

Surprise flickered across Helena's features, but Myka had found her voice. “You were right about the Regents. And the costs. And because while I will _always_ believe in what the Warehouse stands for, it is not my home.” Myka's voice caught on that simple word, cracking and breaking under the weight of so much more than a single syllable. The months of a journey both of distance and emotion were finally, possibly at an end and she was more terrified in the second of silence following her words than at any other moment in her life.

It seemed, however, that it was now Helena’s turn to be at a loss for words.  Fortunately, she'd always been good at letting her actions speak for her. Reaching out, she cupped Myka’s face between her palms, thumbs brushing gently across flushed cheeks.

Myka felt an answering tremor in Helena’s hands and knew she wasn’t the only one suddenly staring into an abyss she had no idea how to cross. The branches of a hundred paths led from the next few seconds and the distance of those few inches between them seemed in that instant more fraught with danger than any uncharted water. The desire to just lean forward and touch her lips to Helena’s was nearly painful; a constant pull from somewhere below her racing heart. Yet Myka remained frozen, unsure now that she was finally here of how to take the final step and…

“Oh for the love of God, just _kiss her_ already!”

Unaware of anything but each other, the two women had failed to notice Claudia’s significantly less harrowing arrival on her own horse and she now sat, still mounted, at the base of the gangplank with her hands on her hips and an expression of utter disgust on her face.

Claudia’s words were at once a dousing of cold water and a lifeline to grab onto. Myka and Helena clutched at each other, laughing and blushing, and then Myka stilled, slid her hands into Helena’s mane of dark hair, pulled her close and did just as Claudia suggested.

She nearly whimpered at the feel of soft lips parting under her own and when Helena’s tongue teased into her mouth, Myka's knees nearly buckled. Helena merely wrapped her arms around Myka’s waist and deepened the kiss. They were heedless of the cheers of Helena’s crew or Claudia sliding off her horse to quite literally jump up and down in glee. They stood on the gangplank and kissed until the need to breathe forced them apart and then they did so only reluctantly. Grinning like a fool, Helena pressed her lips to Myka’s forehead as the two women held tightly to each other.

Behind them, the crew of the _Time Machine_ clapped and whistled and Myka chuckled. “How much money do you think they’ve had riding on this?” she asked Wells, her hands sliding up and down Helena’s back, feeling lean muscle shift beneath the linen fabric.

Helena's dark eyes were dancing when she replied. “Enough that I’m ordering whoever wins to pay for rounds for the entire crew for the next few days.”

Myka laughed freely, tipping her head back in pure, unfettered joy. When she finally looked at Helena again, the Privateer’s expression mirrored what Myka herself felt.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to realize what was right in front of me the whole time,” Myka admitted quietly.

Helena’s face softened and she ran her fingers through the hair at Myka’s temple. “What’s done is done darling. Now, kiss me again,” the Privateer commanded, grinning.

“Does this mean you’re willing to take on another crewmember or two?”

“Hmm, we’ll see. There are, after all, certain… qualifications one needs for this life.”

Myka narrowed her eyes, biting her cheek to keep from laughing at the other woman’s expression. “Helena G. Wells, you dirty rotten scoundrel…”

“Pirate, my darling. Dirty,” she kissed the corner of Myka’s mouth. “Rotten,” then the other corner, “Pirate,” and finally claimed Myka’s lips deftly. Though in all fairness, Myka yielded without a fight.

It was only Claudia’s yell from below that finally separated them once again. The young woman stood holding the reins of the two horses, her hands on her hips.

“So? Are we gonna celebrate or what?”

Helena never looked away from Myka when she replied, “Celebrate.”

The cheers of her crew could be heard all along the wharf.


	18. Chapter 18

Celebrate they did.

There was indeed a great deal of money that changed hands among the crew and as promised, Helena made the winners take some of their earnings and go into the city to bring back brandy, wine and fresh food. Helena and Myka ate with the crew and stayed through the first round of toasts before retiring to Helena’s cabin amid a great deal of ribald teasing and hearty cheering.  Helena laughed when Myka colored prettily, but in truth she simply wanted to enjoy the luxury of Myka’s presence. Desire simmered between them, but it was banked by the knowledge that they had tomorrow,and hopefully many more days following it.

The silence while Myka moved the second chair closer to Helena’s familiar desk while Helena poured them both a mug of wine from her collection was comfortable. They toasted each other across the scarred mahogany surface and drank. Myka let her eyes slip closed as she savored the slow burn of the alcohol, imagining sunlight on grape vines as it slid over her tongue. Still savoring the drink, she felt her body relax – truly relax – for the first time since she’d left Venice. Sinking lower in the battered leather chair, Myka let herself accept that she was truly here, and that the page had turned on a very long chapter in her life.

_And another begins._

“So what now?” She finally asked, glancing up at Helena who was slouched with her usual boneless grace and had propped her feet on her desk.

Helena shrugged, the gesture easy and fluid. “In part, that is up to you.”

Myka raised an eyebrow and Helena smiled wryly.

“I admit that I may have soured on the idea of chasing MacPherson after we parted, but the man is dangerous and I have contacts the Warehouse cannot exploit. I had planned to go chasing treasure come spring, but for some reason the prospect now holds significantly less appeal than it did this morning,” her dark eyes sparkled and Myka could not – and did not attempt to – stop the smile that tugged at her lips in return.

“Well I want him caught,” Myka stated flatly. “He’s been the cause of too much pain and injury. But what about your crew?”

Helena’s smile grew. “Something tells me they won’t have a problem going after him. I will put it to a vote nonetheless. After all, this isn’t the Navy,” she teased. “Still, we likely will put to port for the winter. I mean to discuss this with Alfonso. He need not know exactly why we seek MacPherson, only that we do and are willing to pay handsomely for information. MacPherson and his organization put the Rogue out of Venice. I do not believe that Alfonso’s people will be at all averse to helping us.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Myka replied, her mind wandering through possible places where the man might have run after Venice and what Artifacts he might still have. She hadn’t learned the full inventory before she’d gone AWOL.

“One of many,” Helena replied and the low, rich tone of her voice snapped Myka out of her reverie. Upon meeting Myka’s startled glance, Helena licked her lips slowly and her eyes grew dark with hunger, flicking over Myka’s body.

Myka’s pulse leapt and the wine in her mug trembled when her hand clenched around the pewter mug. “Helena,” she whispered, shocked at the strength of her own response.

The woman across from her merely laughed richly and put her wine down, standing and moving around the desk. She was attired in the outfit Myka secretly loved best – a simple white shirt unlaced at the throat, a red silk sash and sword belt at her waist, her tan breeches and tall black boots. Her hair was unbound, shining and tumbling over her shoulders and as she knelt, Myka had to force herself not to reach out and run her fingers through it.

Whatever Myka was expecting, it was not for Helena to kneel at her side, deftly removing her wine cup from an unresisting hand and placing it on the desk, gently guiding Myka’s knuckles to her lips and pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. If Myka had been standing, that mere contact probably would have made her knees give out. As it was, her breath caught in her throat at what she saw in Helena’s dark eyes.

“Forgive me Myka, I shouldn’t tease. I am just so very, very glad you’re here.”

Now Myka gave in to temptation and threaded her fingers through Helena’s hair.

“As am I.”

They didn’t say any more. They didn’t need to.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms that night, and when the sunlight slipped through the window the next day, it fell gently across two people who were precisely where they wanted to be.

* * *

As Helena predicted, the crew voted unanimously to go after MacPherson and there were plenty of bloodthirsty calls and jests when the decision was made.

Standing in the mess, Wells raised her hands for order. Inwardly she was delighting in the ferocity of her people and trying to contain the warmth that spread through her heart when she looked at the men and women who were, in truth, her family.

“Very well, we go after the dog. But not now. I mean to sound out Alfonso. His people stand to gain by this as well, and frankly, they have resources we don’t. And I plan to harbor for the winter. Wherever MacPherson is, I have no desire to be running after him on a possible wild goose chase when the winter gales blow in. Foster and Wolly have asked to go back to London,” there were sighs and noises of regret, but no one was surprised. The two crewmembers who were gravely injured during the skirmish with the Spanish galleon had recovered as well as could be expected, but had both decided they were through with ‘the life’. “I’d like volunteers to escort them to London.”

Several hands shot up and Wells nodded. “Very well. Any further plans shall have to wait until I’ve spoken with Alfonso. Dismissed.”

The crew dispersed back to their duties – Claudia among them – leaving Helena and Myka alone.

“So,” Myka raised her eyes. “Alfonso?”

Helena made a wry face. “I suppose we should get it over with.”

* * *

Fortunately, the Duke of Thieves was not only amenable to the idea, when he heard the sum Wells offered he agreed with alacrity

“Wherever this MacPherson is, if he has gone to ground in any city on the continent, we will find him for you. And if he is not here, we will try and find where he has gone. Have your little bird leave a few of her friends with me. They are faster than any messenger,” Alfonso suggested. It took Myka a moment to realize he was referring to Sarah when he said ‘little bird.’

Helena merely nodded and stood, holding out her hand. Their meeting had been significantly less tense than the first encounter and Myka couldn’t help but find the quick-witted thief charming when he wasn’t being suspicious and greedy.

“Officer Bering,” he called just as they were leaving.

Myka turned back.

“It looks good on you both,” Alfonso said, dark eyes dancing.

Myka felt herself blush but merely shook her head at Helena’s questioning glance. “I’ll tell you later,” she murmured as they left the tavern.

It was a soft evening, a bank of clouds on the horizon signaling the possibility of rain and Myka was looking forward to dinner in Helena’s cabin and then joining the crew for an evening of what Wells had promised was surprisingly good music. There were a number of talented people on the _Time Machine_ and tonight they would celebrate Foster and Wolly’s official retirement from the life of privateering. The two crewmembers had already stated their desire to return to England and open a pub.

“Where good-hearted scoundrels always drink free!” Wolly had called to general applause and laughter. It was a bittersweet thing to lose crew, but Myka knew that Helena’s people were damned lucky. They could choose. In the end, that made all the difference in the world.

Her thoughts so occupied, Myka wasn’t really aware that she had placed her hand in the crook of Helena’s arm until the sudden cessation of her stride brought Myka up short.

Startled, Myka reached for her sword by instinct, only to pull back before her hand reached the hilt.

There, standing in front of the gangplank of the _Time Machine,_ was Commodore Frederic.

Hazel eyes met dark brown, each pair reflecting the shock in the other.

“Well,” Helena murmured. “This could be interesting.”

* * *

Interesting turned out to be an understatement.

The striking, mysterious woman standing on the dock as if she had not a care in the world was dressed in her usual civilian clothing – in this instance a dark green dress with a full skirt and high neckline, and her hair done in its familiar elaborate hairstyle. Never one to mince words, Mrs. Frederic simply waited until Helena and Myka were within polite speaking range.

“Captain. Commander. We should speak. I have a proposal for you both.”

And without further ado, Mrs. Frederic strode up the gangplank and onto the _Time Machine,_ ignoring the nonplussed looks of the crew.

Myka and Helena exchanged another glance and then, since there seemed to be little choice, hurried after her.

* * *

Standing around Wells’ desk in the Captain’s cabin some time later, Helena tried to digest what had just happened. In truth, she was at a loss, so sudden was the apparent change in her fortunes.

Myka, however, was not having any such difficulty.

While Helena tried to wrap her mind around what Mrs. Frederic just offered her, it was Myka who stepped forward, placing herself unconsciously between the Captain and the Commodore.

“No.” The word was sharp in the confined space and two startled gazes fell upon Myka. “I will not let you just use her,” she snapped, body tensed as if for a fight. Mrs. Frederic shook her head. “Not use, Agent Bering. Employ. I am offering Captain Wells full reinstatement as an agent of the Warehouse. She and her crew will have the full backing of the Warehouse and our contacts inside the British Government. You have my word on it.”

Still struggling to comprehend just what was transpiring, Helena looked to her newest crewmember. “Myka? It sounds eminently reasonable. Tis not as if we weren’t going to go chasing MacPherson on our own.”

But Myka's focus was still on Mrs. Frederic. “Your word, _”_ she ground out.

Mrs. Frederic merely inclined her head, apparently not at all distressed at the tone in which she was being addressed. “My word.”

At that, Myka’s body relaxed somewhat and she turned to Helena. “Only if you want to, Helena. I won’t let them make you a pawn.”

Reaching up, Helena brushed her fingers along Myka’s cheek, her heart and eyes suspiciously full. “No,” she said quietly, her eyes holding Myka’s. “Not a pawn. Not with you by my side. A knight at least. Possibly a queen.” Her smile was tender and it drew an answering grin and a blush from Myka. Remembering that they were not alone, however, Helena slipped her hand into Myka’s and turned to face Mrs. Frederic. No sign of her earlier hesitation showed on her elegant features.

“Very well. I accept your offer. Full reinstatement to the Warehouse and our priority will be to hunt down and detain Mr. MacPherson. But before we do that,” she paused, glanced once more at the woman beside her and then continued in a softer voice. “I want time.” Helena stated softly.

Mrs. Frederic cocked her head in question.

“The time that my crew gave you by finding MacPherson in Venice. My people and I need a rest. You will be sifting through MacPherson’s headquarters for weeks yet, winter is coming and I have my own sources to sound out. I want time.”

If Mrs. Frederic was surprised by the request, she gave no indication. Instead she merely nodded. “Then you shall have it. Is there anything else?” From another person that question might have been mocking but the Commodore made it merely curious.

Helena shook her head. “No. I will have Sarah discuss staying in contact with the Warehouse with your Agents and you may discuss arrangements for the payment of my crew with my First Mate.”

Mrs. Frederic inclined her head in acknowledgement. “Very well then. Agent Bering, Agent Wells. Good day to you,” she paused, decidedly humanexpression slipping over elegant features. “And good hunting,” she smiled.

Already turning to each other, neither woman noticed when Mrs. Frederic walked through the cabin door and failed to appear on the other side. Instead, Helena was staring at Myka with a stunned expression on her face and Myka was nearly beaming.

“Full reinstatement, for both of us, full support for my crew, Myka…” Helena trailed off, unable for the first time in many years, to adequately find the words for what she felt.

Myka found herself facing the same difficulty so she simply solved it by pulling Helena to her, cupping her face and kissing her tenderly.

“If this is a dream,” Helena whispered against Myka’s mouth. “I never want to wake.”

* * *

The next day, a messenger arrived with orders bearing the official stamp of the Royal Navy, listing Captain Wells and the _Time Machine_ in the full service of The Crown. Helena’s only comment was a dry, “I hope they don’t expect us to wear the uniforms, the collars on those dreadful things itch. _”_ The last details for remaining in communication with the Warehouse were hammered out between Warehouse Agents and the crew of the _Time Machine,_ and then the last messenger left and they were alone.

“Where to, Captain?” Asked Jinx as he strode up to the helm to join H.G. where she stood with Myka.

Wells grinned. “Now Mr. Jinx, we go wherever we wish. We still have leave.”

The young man’s eyes widened. “Leave, but surely I thought…”

“Oh yes, we’ll be hunting MacPherson soon enough, just as we planned, but the Regents need time to sift through what he left at his headquarters and I’ve made a deal with Alfonso. His people will be spreading the word across the continent. Wherever MacPherson has gone to ground, someone will know. In the meantime, Wolly and Foster will be leaving for home tomorrow. Winter is closing in quickly and it will make deeper water dangerous at best. My earlier thoughts remain true. I’ve no intention of embarking on this venture in winter.”

“So what you are suggesting is that…” Jinx said, excitement clear in his voice at the realization that the crew was not to be denied their earlier plans.

“I’m saying that the _Time Machine_ will be dry docked until spring my friend. Now that we have the full backing of the Warehouse, we can make sure she is secure. And we are, indeed, taking our much needed rest. Pass the announcement to the crew and make the arrangements, Mr. Jinx. They are to be back here, at this very dock, with the spring thaw and not before.”

Her First Mate was grinning from ear to ear as he saluted and spun on his heel. The two women heard him yell “Hey Claud, guess what!” before the cabin door shut.

“So, Captain Wells. The ship will be in dry dock, your crew is scattering to the four winds. What _are_ we going to do for these next few months?”

Instead of answering, Helena merely grinned slyly. “Pack lightly Commander. We’re going for a little ride.”


	19. Chapter 19

“A little ride” ended two days later just as the sun touched the horizon. They were somewhere in southern Spain, probably just outside of Seville if Myka had her bearings correctly. They were trotting through vineyards and the smell of the ripe grapes hung heavy and sweet on the evening air. Helena rode ahead of Myka, seat easy on the dark bay she’d purchased in Olhão. The sound of hooves on the hard packed earth was the only thing that disturbed the sleepy quiet of a beautiful evening. Myka was just beginning to wonder where they were going to stop for a night when they came around a bend in the road, and there atop a gentle, terraced hill, sat a Roman-style villa with stucco walls and a red tile roof.

Sitting deeper in the saddle, Wells brought the bay to a halt and Myka pulled up next to her.

“A villa in southern Spain,” Myka said wonderingly. “Why am I not surprised?”

Wells’ answering chuckle was rich before she grinned. “Dinner should be set for us if we hurry!” and with that, she tightened her legs and her mare shot forward. Myka rolled her eyes, but her grey was dancing in place, tossing its head at being held back and she let go of the reins. The horse jumped into a gallop and Myka jumped with her, grabbing mane and laughing as they tore up the sloping drive and clattered into a large courtyard just behind Helena.

A boy of about ten came running outside and at recognizing Helena, let out an earsplitting cry of welcome. “Señora! You are home! Nana! Papa! Señora is home!”

Dismounting, Myka could only watch, rather dazed by the sudden commotion, as a stout older man trotted out into the yard followed soon after by a woman who must have been his wife. The gentleman sported a neatly trimmed beard and dark hair just graying at the temples and was dressed in well-made farmer’s clothing. Beside him, the plump woman of about the same age with a kindly, round face and her thick black hair tied in a neat bun was wiping her hands on her apron. Both of them gave cries of delight and moved to embrace Helena, while the boy – who must have been their grandson – nearly danced with delight. It was a touching sight and one Myka could only wonder at as the woman put her hands on her Helena’s shoulders, kissed her cheeks and then started scolding her for how it was so very rude that Helena hadn't informed them she was bringing company.

Then it was Myka’s turn to be introduced to Señor and Señora Lorenzo, who acted as – for lack of better word – seneschals for Wells’ property. Alejandra (“call me Ana”) and Francisco Lorenzo welcomed the Myka with the same easy grace they'd shown Helena and beckoned the two women inside.

“Felix, see to the horses!” Francisco called and the young man jumped to obey, grinning fit to split his face when Helena took a wrapped package from her saddlebags and held it out to the boy.

She snatched it back at the last moment. “Listen closely Felix, this is no toy. If I find you’ve been misusing it…” in her dark traveling coat with her dark hair and eyes, haloed by the setting sun, Helena looked every inch the dangerous pirate in that moment.

Unfortunately she was talking to a ten year old boy who knew she had a present for him and her attempt to be stern failed. Utterly. Myka had to bite her lip to keep from laughing as Wells sighed and handed over the parcel. The sound of paper ripping filled the air and then Felix was lifting a beautiful dagger with a silver-chased pommel and a sturdy leather sheath. It was a small knife – a young man’s knife – but it was beautifully wrought and of very high quality. The boy’s eyes shone.

“Thank you Señora,” he whispered. Felix then proceeded to slip the sheath on his belt and gravely take the reins of Helena’s and Myka’s horses. “I will take very good care of it.”

As he walked away, Helena turned back to his grandparents, only for her face to take on a distinctly guilty expression. Myka just watched in awe as the tiny, plump grandmother with her hands on her hips made infamous privateer H.G. Wells bite her lip in uncertainty. “I’m sorry Ana. I just saw it and I knew he would love it…” She trailed off as the Ana's eyes narrowed.

Apparently deciding she had teased Helena long enough, however, Ana finally shook her head. “You spoil the boy. It's sweet.” Then her look became calculating. “You should have a few of your own. Then you can stop ruining my grandchild.”

The look of horror that came over H.G.’s face was enough to set Alejandra, Francisco and Myka to laughing until their sides hurt.

“Come in, come in,” Francisco gestured once he managed to catch his breath. “Dinner is nearly over but the hypocaust is fired. I know how you love to bathe when you come home.”

At ‘bathe’ Myka’s ears perked up and Ana gave her a knowing look. “Just like Helena I see. Well good, let us feed you first. I know she can't cook, I don't imagine you're any better," Ana teased gently and Myka easily admitted she was quite hopeless in the kitchen. 

* * *

The meal that followed was simple - cooked game hen with garlic and white wine sauce, fresh greens and bread just from the oven – but Myka wasn’t sure when she had ever tasted anything so wonderful. Ana merely waved away her praise.

Conversation was primarily dominated by the Lorenzos updating Helena about the state of her land, though in truth there was little to report. Helena maintained some small acreage around her villa, but most of the lands traditionally attached to it she had sold to local farmers in exchange for an agreement never to build on them. In return, they also farmed the grapes and olive trees that still belonged to Helena and aside from a bottle or two of the wine that came from her vines, Helena took nothing. “What would I do with produce?” she said humorously. Ana and Francisco oversaw the villa and used its fields as their own when Helena was gone though they lived with the rest of their family in the village just over the next hill. Myka learned that the couple had two daughters and a younger son, that Felix was their oldest grandchild and they were expecting him to have a little brother or sister any day now, and that they had been caretakers of Helena’s estate for nearly ten years. 

"Honestly, it belongs to them more than me," Helena said, watching the couple move easily around the bright kitchen. 

“So you bought this…” Myka trailed off, trying to remember when Wells left the Warehouse.

Helena merely nodded, however. “Yes, I found the property when I was still with the Royal Navy. It was going to waste because it was tied up in a property dispute. The land wasn’t being worked. I was actually riding through on my way somewhere else. I stopped to water my horse and looked out over the valley and that was it. I knew I didn’t want to leave.” Dark eyes were gentle and far away as she spoke and the sight filled Myka’s heart with something she still had difficulty describing.

Neither women noticed as their guests exchanged significant glances and rose from the table.

Startled out of her reverie, Helena went to rise but Ana waved her away. “Your bath is all ready, I'll come back tomorrow with lunch. You both look tired. Go, bathe, sleep.”

Myka couldn’t help but chuckle as Ana ordered a feared Privateer Captain around in her own home and Helena obeyed meekly.

“Ana would you please show Myka where the bathing room is? I need to talk to Francisco.”

Ana nodded and beckoned Myka along, making a shushing motion when Myka would have cleared her dishes. “Leave it. I will clean it all tomorrow, you two will have plenty of time for chores later.”

Myka followed Ana out of the warm kitchen and through the rest of the house. It was an open, airy space with thick white walls and colorful throw rugs over the tile. What furniture occupied the rooms tended to be sturdy, simply designed and made to be used and enjoyed rather than looked at. There was a dark stone fireplace and a beautiful fresco of a landscape above it. Following in Ana’s quick footsteps, Myka passed by what looked like a sunroom that led outside to a veranda and then down a short corridor to what Myka guessed must have been the bedroom. Or at least, it was the room where Helena had installed a massive four poster bed with mounds of pillows. The blankets and pillows were crimson and cream and – Myka brushed a hand along them – silk.

 _Well now I know where she’s spent her fortune,_ she mused. At this time of evening, the rooms themselves were lit with candles held inside slender glass tubes with mirrors behind them, some of which had been blown from colored class so that the light filling a particular room was warm gold or soft red. The arrangement created a beautiful and safe light that could be doused just by lifting the glass and blowing out the candle.

And then Ana walked through a door in the back of the bedroom and Myka walked into heaven. It was a bathing room, but so much more than that. Someone had apparently decided to echo the bathing chambers of the Romans, because the tub was massive. Indeed, it wasn’t so much a tub as a pool sunk into the floor with a lip of tile that didn’t reach to Myka’s knees around it. There was a window next to the pool so the bather could look out over the valley, but curtains allowed privacy when wanted. There were several candles in their sconces on the walls and the white tile glowed in the dancing light. Water already filled the pool and Ana pointed to a small plug in the bottom and a sluice gate similar to the one in the ‘shower’ on the _Time Machine._

“It's so easy, water enters there” – Ana pointed at the gate – “and leaves there” – she pointed at the plug. “No hauling or heating water. There is a fire underneath the reservoir and the bath.” And sure enough, Myka saw gentle curls of steam rising off the water. “I filled it when I saw you two come charging up the drive.”

Ana smiled fondly at Myka's expression and pointed out the robes and folded cloths for drying off.

“Go on, you will feel better when you are clean. Goodnight señorita!”

Myka murmured her thanks and goodnight, but she was already removing her boots. Her breeches, traveling coat, shirt and underclothes followed and were tossed unceremoniously in a pile in the corner. Closer inspection of the tub revealed several baskets of flowers and herbs around the lip and Myka shook her head.

 _H.G. Wells. Feared Privateer and secret lover of scented baths._ It amused Myka to no end, but she didn’t hesitate to crumble some of the lavender onto the water. She paused, then grinned and for good measure, tossed a handful of fresh rose petals onto the surface where they formed crimson accent marks to the glistening water.

Walking over to the lip, Myka saw there were steps down into the pool, and one hand on the tile, carefully lowered herself down.

 _Oh. Heaven,_ Myka thought as the hot water enveloped her body. After months at sea, the turmoil of her time in Venice, then traveling again, the bath was quite possibly the most deliciously sensuous experience she could recall. The pool was deep enough so that if she knelt but did not sit on her heels, the water came just to her neck. The Commander made quick work of washing herself, using the gleaming silver brushes and razor to remove weeks of sea-travel from her body. Then she drained and refilled the tub, delighting in the novelty of fresh, hot water and scattering a few more flowers on the water. Indeed, it was hot enough to almostbe uncomfortable, which meant it was perfect. Letting herself lie back, Myka closed her eyes and half-floated in the tub. Quieting her mind, she just let herself feel: the silken caress of the hot water, the tendrils of steam as they drifted over her face, the smell of lavender and rose from baskets on the lip of the tub.

It was bliss.

Even the sound of Helena approaching caused her only to lazily open her eyes. Helena leaned against the doorway, watching her. Lit only by the candles, Helena’s hair became a cloak of shadows over her shoulders and her eyes, black in the low, flicking light, burned with something far more powerful than fire.

Neck deep in hot water, Myka felt a frisson of desire slide through her and she trembled. Perhaps she should have felt embarrassed, exposed as she was, but when Helena looked at her, she could never find it in her to feel anything other than wanted. For Myka - a woman who had spent nearly her entire life fighting her way through the ranks in a man’s world - it was an unfamiliar but wholly welcome experience to be seen not as an object, but as herself.

And then it was her turn to delight in the beauty before her.

Without a word, Helena slipped off her own clothes, tossing them heedlessly into the pile with the Commander’s. Watching, Myka nearly forgot to breathe, for Helena could have been a statue carved by one of the ancient Greek masters. The curves and planes of Helena's body flowed together and Myka was minded of the legends of Aphrodite.

 _No,_ she corrected herself as Helena stepped up to the tub and Myka saw muscle and tendon outlined in shadow and candlelight. _Not Aphrodite, Athena._

With a deft twist, she pinned her hair atop her head and then, eyes never leaving Myka’s, stepped into the pool.

Myka was frozen, held in place only by the force of Helena’s gaze though she had no desire to break free. Everything beyond the space between them faded away and when the other woman cupped Myka’s face in her hands, she held on to slender wrists and melted into the kiss that followed. Myka’s heart raced in her chest and every nerve ending seemed to tingle with the possibility of the desire that flared like a flame between them. Suddenly the air seemed thick, her skin sensitized to the smallest touch. The slightest movement by Helena transmitted through the water so that it felt as though she was being caressed, even when Helena's hands remained against her face.

They didn't remain there for long however. Those elegant fingers slid down her throat and traced the line of her collarbone and Myka couldn't help the soft gasp when a delicate touch traced the valley between her breasts. Her stomach tightened and she tensed. It was an instinctual response beyond her control, but it brought Helena up short.

Myka looked up to find Helena with an expression it took her desire-fogged brain a moment to place. It was fear.

“Myka, forgive me, I…” Helena trailed off and Myka could have laughed at the hesitation in her voice if it didn’t fill her with an unexpected tenderness. Instead she grabbed Helena’s hand and smiled gently, shifting forward so that their knees touched and it was Myka’s turn to trace a thumb along Helena’s cheeks.

“I wasn’t, I’m notafraid Helena,” she said gently, tilting her head to catch that dark gaze. She could feel the tension in the slender body before her and searched for something to say. Helena beat her to it.

“Forgive me, I should have asked. I just…I forget that my wicked ways are uncommon.”

Myka shook her head emphatically. “You are notwicked. And I'm hardly innocent,” she said meaningfully. “It is just that it was a long time ago, and a very different experience.”

Now those dark eyes flashed with threat and a new kind of tension threaded through the slender shoulders. “You weren’t hurt?” Helena’s tone promised that if the answer was yes, someone would pay dearly. It made Myka’s heart unaccountably full.

“No, no he was very kind, and we cared for each other a great deal…” she trailed off, remembering Sam. His handsome features and gentle sense of humor. He _had_ been kind to her, but now those memories seemed to belong to someone else.

“And yet…” Helena prompted gently.

Myka smiled wryly at how well the other women could read her. “And yet we ultimately wanted different things. He wanted a wife who would give him children and I wanted to be a Warehouse Agent. And he never did quite forgive me for being a better shot than he.”

That made both women smile briefly and the tension eased from the moment. Reaching up, Helena took Myka’s hands in her own. “What happened to him?”

Myka shrugged. The tale held no real pain for her, not anymore. “He married. I believe they were quite happy for a time, but he was killed by an Artifact and she was left a widow. I think about her sometimes, and how that could have been me.” Myka squeezed the fingers entwined with her own. “I never, not for a second, regret that it wasn’t.”

Helena smiled slowly, searching Myka’s face for something. Whatever she found, it appeared to satisfy, because she slowly ran her hands up Myka’s arms, touch leaving fire in its wake. Myka felt her heart start to race again and her breathing became shallow and quick.

There was no description for Helena’s smile but wicked.

“Well,” Helena murmured, “just so long as I am not competing with a ghost.”

“Helena Wells, you need never compete with anyone, _”_ Myka grinned, pulling Helena to her and claiming her mouth. It was a tender kiss, Myka’s tongue flicking over Helena’s lips before teasing into her mouth. Gently, deftly though, Helena took the lead and Myka surrendered to her willingly. What followed could have been called a seduction but was in truth merely an education as Helena tenderly began to teach Myka the pleasure of her own body.

It began with lips, gentle kisses that moved along her jaw and down her throat. It continued when teasing teeth grazed the skin of her shoulder and a questing tongue tasted the hollow of her throat. When Myka moved her hands to try and return Helena’s caresses, Helena pressed a gentle finger to her lips. “Shh. Please, Myka. Let me do this for you, for myself,” and under the teasing smile was a longing that was so clear to Myka she could only nod, her breath scarce in her lungs.

And then Helena slipped behind her, kneeling so their bodies were pressed along the length of each other, front to back. With a gentle touch Helena pulled Myka against her, making her gasp at the feeling of Helena’s skin against her own. Helena’s thighs cradled hers and slender arms wrapped around her waist, for a moment just holding her.

“Just let go my love, I have you,” Helena whispered in her ear, and as gentle hands slid slowly along her arms, Myka did just that. Here there were no Artifacts, no missions, no protocol, no danger, no fear. Here there was only the warmth of the water and the slender strength of Helena’s arms. And then those elegant fingers slid across her ribs and skirted the underside of her breasts and there was not even that. All that remained was to feel.

In his own way, Myka knew Sam had loved her, but she had never known the kind of slow building, excruciating pleasure that Helena showed her that night – had in truth never understood that it was possible. Yet Helena revealed to her it was more than possible; it was beautiful. Hands Myka had seen sure and steady on the wheel of her ship or gripping the familiar hilt of her katana now slipped over water-slickened skin with the utmost gentleness, playing Myka’s senses like a maestro with a favored instrument until Myka’s body sounded to the harmony of her making. Helena teased the breath from Myka’s lungs in gasps like notes, until she quivered like a sounded harp string. Her head fell back on Helena’s shoulder as she gripped lean, strong thighs, trying to find an anchor in a rising tide of need. It seemed like Helena was everywhere, caressing her breasts, her ribs, her thighs, kissing her neck and then holding her tightly as carefully, slowly, those elegant fingers slipped inside her.

Arching against the arm holding her tight, Myka whimpered softly, desire so intense it was like pain in her blood.

“Just a little farther,” she heard Helena whisper almost distantly over the pounding of her heart in her ears. Then Helena was pushing deeper into her, stroking her and Myka let herself be claimed, utterly, completely and without reservation. She seemed to hover on the edge of some unknown precipice and then Helena moved deeper. The darkness behind Myka’s eyes shattered as she found her release, the crashing wave of pleasure sweeping her away for an instant and an eternity.

She came back to herself with Helena holding her tightly, pressing soft kisses along her shoulder.

“Oh,” Myka managed, still trying to catch her breath.

“Myka?” Helena’s voice was cautious.

A lazy smile drifted over the Agent’s face and she managed – after a moment – to sit up and turn so she could wrap her arms around Helena. “Are you supposed to see stars?” she asked, unable to wipe the grin off her face.

Relief softened Helena's features and then she narrowed her eyes. “Rotten woman.”

“Hmm,” Myka quirked an eyebrow. “That’s Agent, my love. Rotten Agent.” And then she leaned forward and effectively silenced any reply Helena might have had.

Wandering hands were stopped by Helena’s gentle touch, however. “Much as I do enjoy this, I have a bed,” she murmured, gasping as Myka kissed a particularly sensitive spot along her jaw.

“Hm. Bed, how novel. Very well.”

It took them a while to traverse the short distance however, because Myka accidentally splashed Helena getting out, which led Helena to retaliate, which created quite a mess and meant it took a while to find something to dry off with.

The candles were burning low when Myka at last eased herself onto the silk sheets next to Helena.

Myka had never spent much time pondering the nature of love – it simply held no place in her life. Now, however, as she propped herself up on one elbow and reached out to trace delicate fingertips along the planes of Helena’s body, watching the flush rise along satin skin and the way her breathing quickened, it seemed as if there was room for nothing else in her heart.

It should have been terrifying.

As Myka leaned down and captured Helena’s mouth with her own, her hair creating a tangled curtain around them and Helena's hands sliding along her back, urging her own desire, fear was nowhere to be found.

* * *

For all the years of strict discipline in the Navy, Myka found it remarkably easy to settle into life at the villa. Such was the seeming isolation and quiet of the surrounding country that it was little effort to believe that she had stepped into an entirely new world – one wholly separate from the Warehouse, Artifacts, and MacPherson. As the weeks wore on, only the occasional messenger bird belied that sense of peace. Usually the information was from Artie or Mrs. Frederic, updating them on any developments that had come from MacPherson’s Venice headquarters. Only one bit of news truly struck Myka, however, and that was when Artie speculated that MacPherson had the horn of Jericho in his possession.

“So _that’s_ how that frigate destroyed the _Artifact Hunter.”_ She murmured, reading the slip of paper over Helena’s shoulder. “We never would have heard the sound over the noise of the frigate’s guns. Damn.”

Helena's hand on her shoulder was comforting. 

For the most part, however, the two women simply enjoyed living. Helena had an extensive library and Myka spent hours curled up in front of the fireplace reading. Ana and Lorenzo came and went once or twice a week, mostly just to gossip and share a meal,  ad their visits provided pleasant punctuation to the quiet days otherwise spent only with each other.

They sparred, they rode through the countryside, they read, and they discovered each other.

Myka had teased Helena the day she found a book of Sappho’s works – in the original Greek and a translation – in the library, but Helena merely smiled unrepentant. Moving to slip her arms around Myka, Helena pressed her lips to a conveniently bared shoulder. “And why should you be at all surprised that I have such a work?” She’d asked archly, her question only half teasing. “Have I not convinced you of the beauty that lies within a woman’s body and spirit?”

And then she’d pulled the book from Myka’s unresisting hands and set about reiterating that lesson.

If she delighted in the pleasure Helena could evoke from within her own body, however, it was almost nothing compared to the heady rush of discovering the power Myka had over the other woman. It never ceased to be a wonder how she could affect brash, headstrong H.G. Wells with just a look; or how grazing her teeth over the flaring pulse point in Helena’s neck could make her gasp, how tracing her nails down the silken skin of the other woman’s inner thigh made her moan and how if Myka sucked justright, she could bring Helena arching off the bed, her body trembling and hands gripping the sheets.

Thus winter passed. And yet as spring approached Myka found herself increasingly torn between duty and desire.

It wasn’t until Helena joined her on the veranda one evening, however, that she realized just how deep the conflict had lodged in her heart.

The night was clear, the stars in the deep velvet blue sky twinkling like diamonds. There was a touch of frost still, but Myka could feel spring on the horizon – a threat now, rather than a promise.

The sound of a footstep alerted her to Helena’s presence and Myka smiled when her lover draped a thick, soft blanket around her shoulders before moving to stand next to her. They stood in comfortable silence for a while and then Helena spoke, her breath frosting ever so slightly.

“It doesn’t mean parting you know.”

Myka turned to face Helena, not following the thread of her thoughts.

“Leaving here. Resuming the hunt for MacPherson. It does not mean we will be parted. I won’t let them take you away from me. Not now.”

Something; some nameless fear that had been lurking deep within her heart became manifest in Myka’s breast at those words and Myka suddenly realized what had truly been tugging at her. It wasn’t dread at her duty or a desire to stay here in this house forever. It was fear. Never before had Myka Bering been possessed of something she feared losing more than her own life, and even that had always been an abstract possibility.

“What if it’s not a choice? This is no game Helena. MacPherson is dangerous. What if I lose you?”

Understanding dawned on Helena's features, but she had no real reply. There was none to be given. All Warehouse Agents understood the danger of the world, perhaps more so than most for they were faced with mortality every day. Instead of replying then, Helena merely stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Myka, hugging her fiercely. Myka returned the embrace and the blanket fell to the flagstones, forgotten.

“I can only promise I won’t go without one hell of a fight. You know as well as I that is all any of us can promise.”

“I know. But I’ve never been afraid of losing anyone like this before,” Myka finally admitted.

“Nor have I, Myka. Nor have I. We can but make the most of the time we have.”

It took a moment, but Myka gave a soft huff of laughter. “You’re just trying to have your way with me again aren’t you Captain Wells.”

“Well, I am an unscrupulous woman,” Helena leaned back, pressing a kiss to Myka’s forehead. Her expression softened. “Don’t rush tomorrow, Myka.”

They didn’t, but it came anyway.

Spring was approaching and with it came more birds bearing news.

One of them was from Alfonso.

The first blush of green was just beginning to cover the hills when a small hawk fluttered onto the veranda where Myka was curled up, reading. Untangling herself from her blanket, the Agent rose carefully and held out her hand. When the bird hopped quietly onto her fist, she checked and was unsurprised to see a messenger pouch tied around the creature’s leg. Untying it Myka tossed the bird back into the air and unrolled the scrap of paper.

Written in a hasty scrawl were three words.

“We found him.”

“Helena!”

* * *

They left at first light the next morning, riding hard for Olhão.

Dinner the night before was bittersweet. Ana and Francisco joined them and the elderly couple were genuinely upset to see Helena and her companion leave. Both, however, were well aware that the two women were involved in matters that were much grander in scope than any one person’s life. Whatever forces drove their dark eyed employer and her gentle friend, Ana could only pray that God watch over them. Once the meal was over, Francisco brought out a bottle of rare champagne and the four toasted to safe journeys.

When Helena praised the vintage, the older man nodded. “I have one more bottle. I will keep it,” he said holding the Captain’s gaze, “until you return home safely.”

There was nothing to say after that but ‘thank you,’ and then Ana and Francisco left the women alone for the night. There was little to pack and time seemed to rush forward, slipping out of Myka’s grasp until she found herself in the courtyard of the villa, holding the reins of her grey and watching the sky fade to a soft pink in the east. Behind her, Helena emerged from the stable leading the bay. The two women shared a last look at what had truly become _home_ to Myka, then turned as one and swung up on their horses.

Neither looked back as they cantered down the road and around the bend.

Francisco was as good as his word however, and just over a year later, tired, somewhat worse for wear and bearing the weight of many new memories, not all of which were pleasant, Helena and Myka shared a glass of champagne in the kitchen of their home.

“To victories,” Helena raised her glass, watching as the afternoon sun streaming through the window caught the pale bubbly liquid and turned it golden.

“To tomorrow,” Myka countered, reaching across the worn wood of the kitchen table and entwining her hand with Helena’s.

“To tomorrow, and all the days after.”

The gentle sound of crystal ringing floated on the air but it was soon forgotten as the Captain and her Commander abandoned their glasses and found other, more pleasurable things to savor.

 

The End. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we come to the end of this ridiculous romp! Thank you to everyone who kudo'd and commented and to the Bering and Wells fandom for being the best fandom ever. 
> 
> The main arc of 'Pirates' is complete, the other chapters included in this fic are mostly interludes that were originally written on Tumblr and crossposted here.


	20. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt on tumblr which was 'scarlet, porn.' So this is really nothing but smut. No particular time setting. 
> 
> **warnings for injury/blood**

The water in the basin has long since turned scarlet and the rags littering the floor of the cabin fared no better - once-pale linen now thick and reddish-brown with drying blood.  Wide white stripes of clean bandages cover neat lines of tiny black stitches but spatters of claret still mar Helena’s thigh and underneath Myka’s nails there is still a rim of dirty crimson from where she struggled to hold the tourniquet on Helena’s leg.  A leg that is - as Katherine ordered - propped up on a pillow. How long it will stay that way, however, remains to be seen. 

Those hands that tried so desperately to stem the flow of blood from Helena’s wound are now touching the injured woman with undisguised desperation as Myka lets loose the fear and anger she’s struggled for hours to contain. Torn between wanting to rage at Helena’s recklessness and hold her so tightly in thanksgiving she is still alive, Myka instead shoves the captain back into the bed, hands gripping slender shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

Helena, teetering on the edge of adrenaline and intoxication from the rum she’d poured down her own throat while being stitched up, is still sober enough to know what’s driving Myka. Surging upward she opens her mouth to Myka’s, knowing she deserves so much less. They kiss like fighting and Myka’s mouth is hungry, almost cruel. Hands seek useless purchase as the last remnants of clothing are ripped away while bodies strain against each other. Heedless of smaller wounds and bruises littering fair skin they press against each other, seeking something with a need so great it feels like pain. Deeper than any sword cut or musket ball can reach that clawing  _want_  drives them until breathing is an abstract construct and there is only desire and heat and skin slick with clean sweat. 

Myka’s tongue invades Helena’s mouth and her fingers fist in ink-black hair, pulling harshly as she bites Helena’s lower lip hard enough to make the other woman hiss.  Myka’s touch is possessive and demanding, pinning Helena’s wrists above her head as her mouth marks her claim on the struggling, willing form beneath her. If there were room for words between the pounding beat of her heart in Myka’s mind, ‘mine’ would ring like a bell, clanging over and over as with lips and tongue she sucks blood to the pale surface of Helena’s skin and new bruises bloom like dark red flowers as Myka possesses her, over and over and over. 

It takes a long while for the memories of seeing Helena fall beneath an enemy’s sword to finally bleed away; before the taint of fear that’s been driving her heart is finally washed clean by simple lust; for Myka’s hands to gentle and her mouth to tease and not taste; for the urge to  _give_  to eclipse the need to  _take._  And when the time passes they are both spent, trembling and breathless in a tangle of bedsheets and sweat-dampened limbs. 

Myka’s mind is blessedly quiet, only the comforting sound of Helena’s breathing occupying her thoughts. Memories of her name begged in delicious plea have replaced cries of pain and Myka presses a chaste kiss to Helena’s cheek before arranging the bed covers over them haphazardly.  There will be time for promises of ‘never again’ and apologies tomorrow.  Helena knows damn well how lucky she was to escape tonight, but for now neither have any words left that their bodies haven’t said. 

Outside the cabin window the sun sinks below the horizon, spilling scarlet light across a clear ocean as Captain and Commander drift off to sleep in each other’s arms. 

 


	21. scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the tumblr prompt 'scars' just a smutty, fluffy interlude. Life on the sea is hard. Helena muses on the stories Myka's skin tells.

The night was clear and soft, the sky overhead an endless velvet expanse littered with stars like carelessly spilled diamonds. A crescent moon rose like a silver scythe, its progress unimpeded by clouds.  Alone on the shining black sea  _The Time Machine_ sailed silently, cleaving a straight path through the darkness, clearly intent on some unknown purpose. Sailing through friendly waters she ran openly, lanterns hanging in the prow and stern and throwing golden puddles of light on her deck and overboard to gleam on the ink-black water below. 

Though quiet, the deck was not empty, small figures moving across the weathered deck with the rolling gait of seasoned sailors.  A man stood at ease at the wheel and several crew members carried out various tasks on deck and in the rigging. Snatches of song and laughter from below decks hinted that the rest of the crew was taking their ease and at the stern of the ship, through the cracks in drawn curtains, soft warm light suggested the Captain of the vessel was still awake. 

Helena was indeed still awake and she was not alone.  

The remnants of a hearty meal and an empty bottle of wine littered the Captain’s sturdy desk but the woman in question no longer sat at her station. 

Instead, she and her companion were sprawled over Helena’s bed and each other. 

In the soft, dancing light of a dozen thick white candles placed carefully in clever holders that kept them from tipping or dripping, Helena’s eyes were as dark as the ocean outside. Her normally alabaster skin seemed to glow in the molten light. Like the ancient goddesses of the past, she looked somehow more than human. 

Myka ran her fingertips through the sable hair spilling over Helena’s shoulders, feeling the silken softness give way to living warmth and solid sculpture of skin and muscle over bone, a reminder that the woman pressed against her side was still perfectly mortal. 

Sated in every way possible, the Captain and Commander held off sleep. Far too rare were these moments of quiet ease where they could simply relish the nearness of each other. By silent accord they sought to cleave to this one as long as possible. 

Cheek propped on one hand, Helena brushed lazy fingertips across Myka’s collarbone, finding by habit the long thin line of scar from an old sword cut. It slashed across the pale skin of Myka’s shoulder before fading into nothing at the top of her breast. Mind still pleasantly blank, Helena bent her head without thinking and pressed her lips to the mark before tracing it lazily with her tongue. Below her, Myka shifted, eyes opening to reveal shaded green irises dark with something much deeper than the night. The flickering candlelight seemed to dance in those eyes and Helena, suddenly not so tired after all, rolled over until she was pressed atop Myka, their bodies fitting as if made only for each other. 

And perhaps they had been, but such philosophical musings were not forefront on Helena’s mind as she dipped her head and trailed soft warm kisses once again to the scar on Myka’s shoulder. The flesh had healed long before Helena came to know the woman beneath her, the result of an Artifact hunt and an overzealous treasure hunter who’d been reluctant to relinquish what appeared to be pure gold. It was Helena’s favorite scar, but it wasn’t Myka’s only.  The life of a Warehouse agent was a hard one and Myka wore the tale on her skin. It was a story Helena had heard from the woman’s own lips, and touched with own hands, but it never grew less intoxicating.

With nothing ahead of them but the night, Helena set out to map the landscape of Myka’s past. 

The thin line on her shoulder was accompanied by a finger’s width of flat, tight skin with the tell-tale shine of a burn on her upper forearm. A musket graze courtesy of a French rifleman. 

There was a jagged, thick scar at the bottom of Myka’s ribs from a messy tavern brawl when she’d first joined the Warehouse. In the middle of a fight that Myka had once confessed she didn’t even remember how it all started, someone had gotten hold of a broken bottle and come in under her guard. The ship’s doctor at the time had none of Katherine’s skill and the wound healed unevenly.  Helena rather fancied that scar as well because she had one in almost exactly the same place on her other side, gained from exactly the same situation.

Although in Helena’s case, the Captain couldn’t begrudge the scar since _she’d_  stared the fight. 

There were more and slowly, reverently, Helena found them all, worshiping with lips and tongue the marks of a life not just lived, but _won_ **.**  

A tiny lattice-work of barely visible lines on the backs of Myka’s hands and knuckles came from sword practice and hand to hand combat. A discoloration on the outer edge of a knee was a reminder of the time Myka misjudged a cobblestone while chasing a thief and lost the skin there.  A short thick ridge of flesh on her hip was the legacy of a dirty knife fight in a back alley Pete had to practically carry her back to the ship from. 

There was no urgency in Helena’s movements. She had done this before and she would do it again. But she loved to feel Myka shift beneath her and never tired of the look in the taller woman’s eyes as she pressed her lips to remnants of old pain. 

Sam, Myka had once confession, ignored the scars. And not just Myka’s, but his own, as if by pretending the blemishes didn’t exist, he could remove the violence and danger they signified as well. Myka had said she didn’t mind, but Helena silently thought the man had been a fool. They were Warehouse agents and sailors; every scar was a testament to their adventures and a lesson to be learned. 

And Helena was a diligent student. 

Nor was she alone in the appreciation of this area of study. Though Helena held the upper hand at the moment, Myka had found all those marks upon the Captain’s skin and drawn the stories behind them from the smaller woman with gentle eyes or wicked lips. 

They shared many; the sword cuts and musket grazes that all sailors acquired over their years. Helena, however, bore two highly distinctive marks that had no equal on Myka’s body.  The first was a broken line that ran from the Captain’s hip to her knee where her leg had nearly been ripped open by a broken spar during a terrible storm. Only Katherine’s skill and the Bandages of Hippocrates had saved her.

The second one, Helena rather despised and Myka adored. Not so much because the mark was particularly ugly - it was a mere dent in the flesh where a musket ricochet had struck.  No the problem was the  _location_ ….Right smack in the middle off Helena’s left arse cheek. The first time Myka had found it, she’d laughed delightedly and coaxed the - sadly anti-climatic - story from the Captain. It had been nothing more than rotten luck but she’d been stuck with the damn mark ever since and Myka enjoyed tormenting her by pinning her down on her stomach and kissing it before working her way up Helena’s spine. 

There was no laughter tonight though. Instead both women accepted the gentle peace that seemed to have settled over the room like the candle’s glow. 

Outside the cabin the watch changed. Crew-members sought their beds and the crescent moon reached its apex, casting its reflection into the sea below. Inside the cabin Helena returned to her earlier position resting on Myka’s chest. The taller woman pulled the covers over the two of them, her hands resting on Helena’s back. Below Helena’s ear, Myka’s heart beat steadily, a rhythm that was becoming as familiar to the Captain as her the roll and pitch of her ship and far more dear. 

Slowly the candles burned down, sputtered and died, leaving the cabin in gentle darkness. 

Helena and Myka slept on, unawares. 

 


	22. rough beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did H.G. Wells go from Warehouse Agent to pirate? Well it involved a lot of booze.

H.G. Wells was no stranger to drink. She had been, for all intents and purposes, raised by the Warehouse and its agents. Apprenticed into the service of the Royal Navy and the Warehouse from an early age, she’d been treated as an adult, which meant - among other things - more than a passing familiarity with strong spirits of dubious origin. 

But in all her years as a Warehouse apprentice, Agent, and sailor in the Navy, she had _never_  been this unbelievably, painfully,  _tragically_  hung over.  She woke - if one could call it waking - to a  _splitting_  headache, a roiling stomach and the taste of something dead in her mouth, in an unfamiliar room with the dreary light coming through the curtains as if its sole purpose for existence was to stab her in the eyes. 

The sense of complete distortion was compounded by the fact that she did not appear to be wearing clothing, although it was difficult to be certain as Helena couldn’t bring herself to fully open her eyes yet. 

A muffled moan escaped Helena’s lips as she rolled over in bed. The moan turned into a startled shriek and then faded to a whimper as the act of rolling over caused her to promptly fall right off the edge. The subsequent impact with the rough wooden floor revealed two things to Helena. The first was that there was a distinct possibility she was actually dead and this was Hell. The second was that she really  _was_  clothed, but not in her usual attire of stiff blue Navy coat, starched white shirt, stocktie and knee-high boots. 

And that was when memory and sense finally returned and the last 24 hours, as well as the reason for her current state became painfully - literally - clear. 

Yesterday she’d given her notice of resignation to Commodore Frederic. 

Yesterday was the day she’d left the Warehouse. 

The starched Royal uniform was long gone - burned if Helena remembered correctly, though since that was somewhere between bottles two and three of …. something, she probably didn’t.  Instead, finally forcing her eyes open, Wells found herself in dark trousers, a man’s belt, a scarlet shirt and a heavy black overcoat.

She had absolutely no recollection of how she’d obtained them. 

Since it was clearly past midday and no one was pounding at the flimsy door of her cheap Inn room, however, it was probably safe to assume she’d paid for them. Helena dared taking a closer sniff of the coat and was pleasantly surprised when she found only the familiar scent of the ocean and mild smoke. 

Considering how drunk she’d been, it was probably a minor miracle. 

Still sprawled on the floor of her room, Helena finally managed to convince  _both_  eyes to focus in the same direction. The accomplishment left her staring at a dingy, unremarkable ceiling. A quick fumble at her belt produced a sadly depleted but not totally empty coin purse. 

So, her situation was unpleasant but not dire. 

For a very long moment Wells actually entertained the thought of just staying right where she was, pitiful heap on the floor and all.  

After all, what did she have to look forward to now? She had severed her service with the Warehouse as was subsequently no longer a member of the Royal Navy. The ordinary Service would never accept women. Her crewmates had turned their backs on her the moment she’d denounced the Warehouse. The Regents had washed their hands of her.

For the first time in over a decade, Helena was utterly, truly alone.

That realization made her gut twist in a way that had nothing to do with last night’s excesses. 

She still had some limited savings of course,  but they were stored - along with her one true possession, the villa in Spain - on the continent. 

Which meant if she wanted her money, she’d have to get off the floor. 

The very thought of moving nearly made Helena throw up. And oddly, that was finally what goaded her into action. 

H.G. Wells was not going to end her days in her own sick on some floor in a non-descript Inn. 

"Get up Wells," she groaned, her voice rough and low and almost completely unrecognizable even to her own ears. 

The effort to lever herself up from that floor could have put Hercules’ Labors to shame but Helena had always been stubborn. Eventually, she managed to become vertical.  Possibly listing to port a bit, but mostly upright. 

Her good fortune at not being sick was added to by the discovery she’d apparently kept enough of her wits to hold on to her best rapier. With hands that shook only a little, Helena picked the weapon up from its resting place against the side of the bed and thrust it through her belt. 

The former Warehouse agent then availed herself of the cold water in the basin on the small table, splashing some on her face and drinking the rest. Thankfully it helped to clear her head a little. Enough to realize that she needed a plan. She could head to Spain of course, reclaim her villa and settle down to the life of a farmer but…

But the idea didn’t sit well with Helena and it wasn’t just her stomach complaining. 

It felt like giving up. And with her body no longer screaming  _quite_  so loudly, Helena felt that old familiar core of stubbornness that had always served her well dig in its metaphorical heels. 

She was  _H.G. Wells_ , one of the finest swordsmen and sailors the Warehouse had ever trained. She had been Chaturanga’s protégé and one of the best Artifact hunters on record. 

Tugging her coat into some sort of order, an idea washed onto the shores of Helena’s mind. 

A crazy, stupid, daring idea. 

A brilliant idea. 

After all, if she could find Artifacts, she could find other things. Lucrative things. Things that could be considered…treasure. 

"H.G. Wells, pirate," she murmured quietly to herself. She rather liked the sound of that. Except…

"No, C _aptain_  H.G. Wells.” 

It wouldn’t be too hard really. After all, she was dressed for it. All she needed was a crew and a ship. She might have to work her way up to it a bit, but she could do it. 

Perhaps it was the hangover talking. Perhaps it was the silent fear of the utter bleakness of her future. Perhaps it was simply that Helena had always truly been better at bending - or downright breaking - the rules than following them, but standing in that wretched little room all alone, becoming a pirate seemed like the most marvelous idea in all of history. 

And because she needed it, Helena latched on to that idea. It gave her a purpose. It gave her hope.

It gave her a future.

 _And who knows, it may even bring me fame and fortune and a wench or two._.. 

Shaking her head – carefully – at the ridiculous fancy, and straightening, she checked her rapier and her spare knife one last time. With little more than her clothing and her sword to her name, H.G. Wells turned on her heel and strode (mostly steadily) out of the tiny rented room in the tiny dingy inn on a small, dirty street in London. 

She never looked back, and she never returned. 

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a smutty interlude based off one of Webgeekist's drawings for this AU. Helena likes Myka's Royal Navy uniform. She really likes taking it off her. There's desk sex.

The angle of the weak sunlight filtering through the aft cabin windows told Helena that it was _barely_ daybreak and thus, there was no reason for her to be up at the moment. Sliding her hand along the bedcovers, however, Wells hand met no resistance and only a hint of remaining warmth. Myka hadn’t been gone long, but her absence had been enough to pull Helena from a sound sleep. 

Blinking, Helena turned, searching the rest of the cabin for her bedmate. Sure enough, Myka stood at the Captain’s desk, back to the bed where Helena lay, apparently absorbed in the charts scattered across the mahogany surface. Helena felt a twinge of sympathy. They’d had early luck tracking MacPherson, but the damnable man now seemed to have vanished. Helena and Myka now spent many a late night pouring over the worn papers littering Helena’s desk, trading guesses, re-hashing old information and just hoping for inspiration or more news. 

So far, they remained stymied. 

As the sky outside faded from dull pewter grey to soft silver, however, Helena found thoughts of their quarry quickly pushed aside by a much more pleasant realization. Whatever restlessness had moved Myka to leave their bed had apparently been enough that the Commander did not consider dressing a priority. Which meant that Myka had simply grabbed her old uniform jacket…and nothing else. Stretching leisurely, Helena let her gaze linger on the long, slender expanse of leg that tapered from the end of the navy coat with its gold trim. Straight shoulders were made broader by stiff epaulets and Myka’s riot of curly hair tumbled unheeded down her back.

Licking suddenly dry lips, Helena slipped from the bed, careful to make enough noise that she did not startle the woman so intent on her study. 

When Myka straightened and threw a glance over her shoulder, Helena knew that she had been heard. Taking that as a cue, the Captain moved and gently pressed her body against Myka’s back, resting one cheek on the taller woman’s shoulder and wrapping her arms around Myka’s slim hips. 

"Did you find the inspiration you were looking for?" Wells asked quietly. 

Myka let loose a frustrated sigh. “What do you think?” The question was asked without malice though. 

"Hmm, I think that my thoughts are far from our quest my darling." And with that, Helena let her fingers brush the inner edge of Myka’s jacket, just barely ghosting across the sensitive skin of the other woman’s stomach. She was testing as much as teasing. If Myka truly needed to let her mind attack the problem at hand, Helena would retreat, allowing the taller woman her space. 

The soft, swift intake of breath, however, told the Captain that she had successfully tempted Myka’s attention away from the charts. 

"Should I ask where they are?" Myka replied, somewhat roughly. Helena adored it when her voice sounded like that. 

"Can you not guess?" Helena replied, her own voice barely a whisper as she deftly unfastened the single button holding Myka’s coat together and slipped her hands under the stiff fabric to find warm, silken flesh. Over the curve of Myka’s ribs she caressed slowly before tenderly taking the weight of Myka’s breasts in her palms. The Commander gave a tiny jerk, her body tightening in want as Helena’s thumbs played teasingly over her nipples. 

"I…think….perhaps I could," Myka managed, hands clenching into fists at her sides. She tried to say something else but at that moment, Helena took Myka’s nipples between her fingers and pinched, slow and hard. The taller woman’s hips jerked in reflex as she cried out softly. 

"Helena!" But it was not a command to stop. Indeed, Myka’s hands came up to cover Helena’s where they cupped her breasts. Breathing harshly the taller woman took one of Helena’s wrists, lifting the delicate hand and kissing the palm and the inside of her wrist before slowly taking one slender finger into her mouth. Now it was Helena’s turn to gasp as Myka sucked her finger deep into the wet heat beyond her lips, tongue lazily stroking the sensitive skin. 

Helena turned the tables once again, however, when she used her free arm to pull Myka tighter against her body, trapping the taller woman against the Captain’s desk as she carefully pressed another finger against Myka’s lips and then into her mouth. 

One of them moaned, but it didn’t matter who. Helena’s hips rolled against Myka’s back and the taller woman whimpered with need.

With a sudden movement, Helena pulled her fingers away from Myka’s mouth, stepped back, spun the Commander and pushed her backward over the desk. Eyes dark and half-glazed, Myka went willingly, scattering charts unheeded as she lay back. Against the dark wood, Myka’s skin seemed to glow in the watery sunlight. The jacket open just far enough to expose the inner curve of both breasts, not nearly satisfactory for Helena’s intent, and she yanked it apart and down Myka’s shoulders,  crawling up onto her desk. Her knees would regret the treatment later but she didn’t give a damn. Arms now partially trapped by the thick wool of her coat, Myka was at Helena’s tender mercy. Just the way the Captain liked it. 

Myka’s body was Helena’s territory to explore and plunder as she pleased, and Helena took her sweet time doing so. She savored the way Myka arched under her as Helena sucked and bit gently at her nipples; reveled in the breathy gasps her captive made as Helena kissed along her collar bone and licked at the thundering pulse point in Myka’s neck; treasured the way those long legs she had so admired earlier fell open, eager and wanting and unafraid as Helena’s fingers danced up the inside of Myka’s thighs; willingly lost herself in the incredible feeling of slick, welcoming heat and Myka’s body tightening around Helena’s fingers as the taller woman came apart beneath her.

Her fingers still inside Myka, Helena stroked gently, drawing out the last tiny ripples that shuddered through Myka’s body. As much as she loved wrecking the other woman so thoroughly, though, it was the moments where Myka came back to herself, lips red and kiss-swollen, color high in her cheeks, her body still so sensitive to Helena’s touch that Helena truly thrilled to. She loved to watch Myka’s eyes open in moments like this and behold the emerald hue they took on. It was like looking into a flawless emerald. 

It made bringing Myka to a second release even more beautiful. 

 

* * *

 

When she recovered, Myka would finally shed her jacket and pull Helena tenderly down to kiss her softly. The taller woman would ease them both off the desk and back into bed where she would ease Helena down and worship her with mouth until the Captain cried out in surrender. The day would be full born but they were not needed on the deck and the two would eventually drift off to a sleep untroubled by plots or artifacts or unseen enemies, held tightly in each other’s arms. 


End file.
